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She hears the dull, wet thud of bloodstained flesh.
She feels her cheekbone crack under the weight of a fractured hand.
She sees only red, for her own blood has seeped between her eyelids.
In her mind’s eye, she sees a flash of blonde hair. A pink shirt.
☼
Lottie Matthews hovered in and out of consciousness all night. In truth, the last thing she felt confident in remembering was ordering Javi away, reluctant to allow his eyes to fall upon the display of brutality that she knew was imminent. Everything afterwards, at least to her, was a blur of motion, of fire, of sickening, blinding pain. Perhaps, she reasoned, it was a blessing that she had been able to forget so quickly and efficiently.
When she had been brought up to the attic, she had no idea. Lottie’s blood had caked her eyelashes shut as it dried, and so rather than force them open, she simply resigned to keep them shut until she felt capable of using her arms to wipe them clean. Shauna had savaged her face so deeply that even attempting to move her jaw was met with unimaginable pain, and so she breathed short, shallow breaths through her newly deviated septum. Any attempt to shift positions made Lottie feel as if she were splitting in half, and so she lay in one place, on the hastily made nest of blankets and pillows that someone had thrown together. It was probably Misty, she thought. Of course it would’ve been Misty.
Lottie had been close to death only once before, and now, she wondered, she may be getting familiar with the feeling.
Lottie wasn’t capable of seeing the moon rise above the treetops and shine its silver glow in through the dusty stained panes of glass in the attic window, but Shauna was. She had climbed the rungs of the ladder one by one, as quietly as humanly possible, hitching her breath in her throat so as to not wake any of the other girls. As she poked her head through the opening in the attic floor, her eyes fell on Lottie, on the broken form of the human being she’d nearly beaten to death only a few hours earlier. Shauna felt her stomach twist.
“Lot?” Shauna whispered hesitantly. There was no response.
Placing a hesitant foot on the attic floor, she tip-toed towards Lottie’s body, praying desperately that the floorboards wouldn’t betray her presence. Lottie did not stir at the sound of her, and for a second Shauna wondered if she was asleep. An image flashed through her mind of Lottie startling awake and wrapping broken hands around Shauna’s throat, squeezing the life from her with a vice grip, her eyes bruised shut and dripping with her own blood. Shauna swallowed.
She knelt beside Lottie’s body, resting beside her as quietly and calmly as she could. Her own breath barely came, and she watched Lottie’s chest intently, looking for any sign of motion to signal that Lottie was still alive.
Shauna felt her shame in her like ice. She closed her eyes and simply sat there, in pitiful, penitent silence, wondering how on earth she could ever come back from something like this. Shauna knew full well what the others thought of Lottie, and she supposed it was unfair to lash out because of something that hadn’t even happened, and she supposed it was even more unfair to savagely beat her within an inch of her life because of that thing that hadn’t even happened.
Shauna had a funny way of thinking sometimes.
She didn’t know what she ended up praying to; whether it was the wilderness, to her saints, or to Lottie… or to Jackie… all Shauna felt she could do was empty her mind, dump as much guilt from it as she could so she could start fresh tomorrow and care for Lottie properly. Hide it away, she thought. Compartmentalize.
As her whispered words hung in the air, falling to the ground like new snow, Lottie stirred, a coughing, gagging sound emanating from her pursed lips and shattered jaw. Shauna was drawn back down to her in an instant, suddenly busy preparing a million apologies that she hoped against hope Lottie would be able to hear and appreciate. Lottie’s eyelids flickered, trying desperately to open as she lurched forward in a feeble attempt to sit up straight. Shauna reached out a hand and placed it behind Lottie’s head, bracing against her thick black hair.
Fresh blood spewed from between Lottie’s lips, splattering like tar onto the wooden floor between the two girls. Shauna reflexively shuffled back in disgust and horror, trying to avoid the splatter as she still tried to hold a soft grip on Lottie’s hair. Lottie coughed and gasped a wet, rattling breath, as a string of crimson trickled down her jaw and off her chin, and she said nothing. Shauna only stared, from the blood to Lottie, back and forth, horrified.
Unbidden, an image of a bloodied blanket flashed in Shauna’s mind.
The next morning, after Shauna had made the trek down the ladder again and told the audience of girls about Lottie’s condition, they spent most of the day waiting at the windows, searching desperately for any sign of blessed food. When none came, they all snuffed down their flickers of doubt. Shauna resolved to keep her mouth shut.
☼
The path had been taken a million times before, and Lottie knows it like the back of her hand. Leaves and twigs crunch underfoot as she stumbles through the underbrush, moving with an intense focus towards the sweet, crisp air of the mountain lake.
She feels the tines of a pinecone sink into her heel. She flinches at the pain, but does not stop.
When the cool earth begins to give way to pebbles and gritty sand, she knows she is close. She continues forward, trusting her instincts for direction, and then she is there and she is looking out at a massive hole in the universe; the water is inky black and stretches on for what seems like forever, and the small waves lap at the beach as if beckoning her in. Lottie takes a hesitant step towards them, before something else catches her eye.
A nude figure is standing a dozen feet from the shore, bathing in the waist high water, and her hands are running through her pale blonde hair in slow, practiced movements. Her skin glistens eerily pale in the moonlight, shining with a silvery glow like marble.
Lottie is incapable of looking away, for she is the most beautiful thing Lottie has ever seen.
As Lottie’s roughened feet break the surface of the water, the figure turns in a flash of moonlight, and her face is framed in that beautiful hair, and her face is stern and focused and violent and beautiful, and she makes no move to cover herself as she strides confidently through the water towards Lottie.
Lottie feels no fear, though she supposes she very likely should.
The figure arrives in front of Lottie, standing statue-like, regal in the chilled night air. The water laps at her thighs as the two girls hold their gaze on each other. Lottie does not flinch.
The figure speaks a word that Lottie does not recognize. It sounds like the wind rustling through the trees. Her face takes on an air of something close to pity. Lottie’s eyebrows furrow.
Lottie asks the figure to explain herself.
Lottie hears a screech from the woods, and as she whips around to face the shore, the figure touches a single finger to Lottie’s back.
Lottie changes.
The screams are getting louder. Hunters are drawing near.
Lottie tries desperately to extricate herself from the water, but her hooves are incapable of moving. The water is sucking her down, deep into the tar pit. Lottie cries out in panic, a shrill, harsh bellow piercing through the night air.
Help. Someone. Please.
Torches flicker through the leaves as the hunters show themselves. As they shine in the moonlight Lottie’s eyes fall on the knives in their hands; they are long, cruel, and wickedly sharp. Lottie doesn’t want them to take her. She must survive.
She calls to the figure, a pleading shriek the only noise she finds herself capable of making. The figure does not move.
She must exit the water. She tries again to move, and instead only digs herself deeper into the silt of the lake bottom. She is actively sinking now.
She has only moments left.
There is a tremendous splash, and then two quick flashes of white-hot searing pain in her right flank. Lottie trumpets out a cry of pain and thrashes away, but only digs herself a foot deeper. Her back slips beneath the water; only her head and neck are visible now. She catches a glimpse of the hunter who dug their blade into her flesh, and is horrified to see a shock of fiery red hair, a face riddled with gaping, bleeding scars.
Lottie’s head is the only thing left above water. She looks to the figure and pleads for mercy. The figure stares back, and does not act.
Another hunter strides forward and, in one motion and with surgical precision, jams their blade through Lottie’s neck and draws it back out a second later. There is another flash of mind-numbing pain; blood flows freely, pooling on the water’s surface, and Lottie cannot speak.
She slips under for good, and her eyes sting at the touch of the dirty water. Either she bleeds, or she drowns.
As she searches weakly for any way to push herself back up, she notices a second figure trod through the water, taking his place next to the first. A tall man stands there, with black hair and a puffy jacket, and from his neck springs a fountain of dripping, oozing, bubbling scarlet.
Lottie falls away, sinks into the silt and the dirt. She tastes copper and mud.
The last thing she sees is Natalie, her silvery skin shining in the moonlight, her marble-cut lips curling in a vengeful, satisfied, triumphant sneer.
☼
“Wake up.”
Lottie jolted awake at the sound of the familiar voice whispering in her ear, her heart pounding and her breathing coming fast and shallow. She half-expected to see that shock of blonde hair and the pink shirt again, but when she gently and slowly lifted her arms to rub away the dried blood from her eyelids, she blearily opened her eyes and saw nothing but the attic wall. Early morning sun shone through the window, casting the room in a faded orange, and there was no sign of her.
Lottie felt a sting of what felt like disappointment.
It hurt far too much to lift her arms more than a few inches above her chest, and so she let them fall onto her stomach again, resigned to laying in her one spot and seeing whether she could muster the strength to move. Her mouth tasted like copper, and a feeling of chilling familiarity ran down her spine after last night’s dream. She tried to spit it away, only for it to travel maybe an inch before falling onto her jacket collar. She let out an exasperated huff before gently falling back down onto the attic floor.
The next time she saw Shauna, she was gonna kill her.
Lottie today found herself unable to do much of anything apart from gently lift and raise her arms, and very slightly turn her head. Opening her mouth was impossible, and though she could technically see, both of her eyes were fat and bruised. As such, when Lottie had let herself relax just a bit too much, and when her body’s natural functions had taken over, she felt a warmth spreading through the blankets that lay under her, a sensation that sent a flood of embarrassment through her. Unable to do much of anything else, Lottie slowly raised one leg as high as she could, which was really only a few inches, and let it fall, her heavy boot colliding with the attic floor with a slightly audible thump. Thankfully Shauna had generally stayed away from her legs, so while definitely present, the pain was tolerable.
Downstairs, most of the girls were still asleep, wrapped up in their blankets and rags. In the corner, however, tucked away from the rest of them, Misty stirred under her covers, and shuffled around for her glasses with a shaking hand. Upon hearing the gentle thumps from upstairs, Misty slid out from her blanket and slowly crept through the labyrinth of blankets and limbs, yawning as she went and taking every precaution to avoid stepping on an errant finger, before arriving at the attic ladder and starting up it slowly.
“Lottie?” Misty whispered out to the room as she peeked her head above the floor, and Lottie waved a hand from its place by her side, unable to move it much further. Misty hoisted herself up and nervously walked over to Lottie, wringing her hands the whole way.
“How’re you feeling today?” Misty said, her voice a little louder this time, but still tinged with sleep.
Lottie was unsure if she would even be able to answer questions, so in a monumental show of effort, she shook her head as slowly as she possibly could.
Misty frowned. “I’m… I’m so sorry Shauna did this to you, Lot. I hope you know none of us wanted this.”
Lottie blinked slowly in response. ‘It’s not your fault.’
Remembering that Lottie had beckoned her upstairs for a reason, Misty started forward. “D–do you need help? Are you okay? Is something broken?”
Lottie cast an accusatory glance at Misty through double black eyes. ‘Everything’s broken.’
Chuckling nervously, Misty readjusted her glasses. “W–well then, what’s wrong?”
A surge of embarrassment gripped Lottie as she realized what she was going to have to admit to doing. She exhaled a small breath, before exhaustedly gesturing with her chin towards the blankets covering her waist and legs. Misty caught on and moved the blankets down with a gentle hand, before closing her eyes and recoiling slightly. “Ohh…kay,” she said, and Lottie was suddenly a bit more scared than she had been previously.
Misty straightened herself up and bit her lip, as if wondering how to proceed.
“So there’s a little blood–”
Lottie instantly tried to prop herself up to look, but Misty bent down and placed a gentle hand on her chest, easing her back into laying down. “No, no no no,” she said in a carefully controlled tone. “You don’t need to see it. It’s fine, it’s just a little bit. Probably because Shauna, um… kicked you so hard. But it’s fine. It’s fine.”
Misty was nervous. As a result, Lottie was terrified.
“So! Here’s what we’ll do,” Misty said, straightening up and switching on that tone of professionalism. “I’m gonna shift you off your blankets–”
Lottie let out a worried whine, incapable of forming actual words, but Misty shushed her gently. “It’ll be fine, Lot, I promise. It’ll only be for a while, and I’ll clean these out for you and get you some nice comfy new ones until these dry, okay? You’ll only be without blankets for a little bit, I pinky promise.”
Lottie considered this, before nodding gently and easing back down. “So,” Misty continued, “we shift you off your blankets, I grab these ones from under you, and we take them downstairs and outside, and we’ll wash ‘em up for you. I’ll wake up Tai or something and she’ll help me, and then we’ll get you situated again, okay? Sound good?”
Misty cocked her head to one side, waiting for a response a little too eagerly. Lottie took a beat to consider before gently nodding her head, and Misty’s face split in a wide smile. “Great! So, which side would you prefer to be laying on for a bit?”
Lottie raised her right hand a few inches off the blankets.
“Got it,” Misty said, moving down and squatting next to Lottie. “I’m gonna dig my fingers under your shoulders and butt just for a second, okay? We’re gonna get you feelin’ better soon, I promise.”
Lottie was suddenly very unsure about the logistics of this plan. Her already shaking breath quickened.
Misty slid her hands under Lottie and prepared to lift.
“Aaand…” Misty said; Lottie barely had time to brace herself. “Lift!”
Pain.
Pain.
Pain.
Pain.
Pain.
Lottie felt as if her entire body were on fire. Radiating through her back and her neck, Lottie considered it a miracle that the cabin didn’t scorch under her as she moved. Her already limited eyesight was blinded white, and in the twenty or so seconds it took for her to regain consciousness, Misty had already balled up the soaked blankets from underneath her.
She was saying something to Lottie, but Lottie felt incapable of understanding speech. As if in response, Misty took a step back and waited hesitantly, as if letting Lottie ride out the pain before returning to her senses.
Eventually, though, Lottie’s breath slowed, and her muscles relaxed and her hands fell to her sides, and she was able to look at Misty through puffy eyes. Misty took extra care to hide the bloodstain from Lottie’s view, giving her a weak smile instead. “You’re okay,” she said, in what she hoped was a comforting tone. “You’re okay. I’m sorry I had to move you, but it’s the only way I could get to your blankets.”
Lottie nodded once in a quick affirmation of understanding. Misty nervously shuffled her feet. “So… I’m gonna take this down,” she said, “and I’ll get someone to come up here and give you some more blankets, okay? Just sit tight, and try not to move too much. Someone will be up here soon.”
Lottie closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath. Misty awkwardly turned and began to sidle down the ladder back to the ground floor, trying her best to maintain composure until she was out of sight.
“I’ll be right back,” Misty said, before ducking below the floorboards.
Misty stifled a sob as she stepped onto the ground floor again; walking over to Taissa felt like walking through sludge. When she arrived at Tai’s sleeping form, she gently prodded it with the toe of her boot. “Tai.”
No response.
“Tai,” Misty hissed, prodding her again.
Taissa stirred, pulling the blanket closer around her with a grunt that very clearly meant ‘fuck off.’
Misty huffed and, taking Lottie’s blankets in one hand, yanked Taissa’s blanket away from her with the other. Taissa cried out in outrage, but Misty shushed her, trying desperately not to wake the other girls. “Tai, I need you to help me. Lottie’s in really, really bad shape.”
Taissa turned to face Misty, the glow of death in her eyes. “I was sleeping.”
“Yes, I know,” Misty said, “but now you’re not. You need to help your friend.”
Taissa had no retort, and so she simply turned away from Misty. Misty scoffed in indignation, before grabbing Taissa’s shoulder and forcefully turning her onto her back. Taissa almost rose from her bed, suddenly primed and ready to sock Misty in the face, before Misty fumbled with the blankets and showed Taissa the stain. All thoughts of violence left Taissa’s mind in an instant, and her eyes were suddenly incapable of looking at anything except the scarlet. “Is–is all that… from her..?” Taissa asked incredulously.
“Yes.”
Taissa swallowed the lump in her throat. “Holy fuck.”
“So,” Misty said, turning the blankets around again, “I need you to go up there with some fresh blankets and move her onto them, okay? Gently, you need to be as gentle as you possibly can. She’s extraordinarily fragile today.”
Taissa shuffled off sleep and nodded emphatically. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. I’ll be gentle, I promise.”
“Okay,” Misty said. “Thank you.”
“Do you need help washing that out?” Taissa asked. “That’s gonna take hours as it is, and I can wake up Van or Shauna or Nat or someone to help if you need it.”
Misty paused, considering the question. “I think I got it, but I’ll get it started and if that changes I’ll let you know. Can you just focus on Lottie, please?”
Taissa nodded. “You got it.”
Misty nodded back, before slinking through the maze again and, as quietly as she could, slipping out the front door. The early morning chill sent a wave of cold through her, and she took a second to adjust to the feeling of it, before steeling herself and bringing the bundle of blankets over to the edge of the clearing. Setting them down on the snow, she fumbled around for a spare bucket before sliding it along the ground, collecting a good amount of fresh snow to melt.
She felt as if she would throw up.
After a few drags of the bucket along the ground, she cast a glance to the blankets settling against the powdery snow.
The deep scarlet stain covered nearly the entire bundle, stretching two feet across, and dripping onto the snow below it.
Misty considered it a miracle that Lottie hadn’t died of blood loss yet.
Back in the cabin, Taissa climbed the final ladder rung and pushed herself up into the attic one-handed. “Hey, Lot,” she said gently, trying to keep her voice low. Lottie didn’t turn her head to face her, but cast her a glance, waving weakly from the floorboards.
“How are you feeling?” Taissa asked.
Lottie was getting tired of being asked that question. She furrowed her eyebrows at Taissa who, getting the message, instantly nodded in understanding. “That bad, huh?”
Lottie averted her eyes. Taissa chuckled.
“Listen,” she said, stepping closer and showing Lottie what she was carrying in her other hand. “I have some fresh sheets for you. I know they’re not laundry-machine fresh, but it’s better than nothing.”
Lottie piqued her eyebrows. Taissa took a moment and unrolled her own blankets down on the floor directly next to Lottie, making sure they were as flat and as comfortable as possible.
“Do you wanna try moving on your own?” Taissa asked, feeling Lottie should have the choice of agency.
Lottie very quickly shook her head no. Taissa swallowed. “Okay…” she trailed off, a little unsure of how to proceed. “Do you want me to try and lift you? Or keep you elevated while you try to scootch along the floor?”
Lottie held up two weak fingers, indicating the second option was preferable. Taissa nodded affirmingly. “Holding you up. Gotcha.”
Taissa moved down and gently placed a hand under Lottie’s ankles. Lottie lifted her head slightly to see what Taissa was doing, and when Taissa gave a short countdown and moved her legs, Lottie only came close to passing out. To her, that was progress.
“Now your torso,” Taissa said. “I imagine it wasn’t great when Misty tried to move you?”
Lottie very deliberately shook her head no.
“I figured,” Taissa said. “Little by little, or all at once?”
Lottie held up a single finger. Taissa nodded again. “Do you need help, or do you wanna do it yourself?”
Lottie flexed her back and, as slowly and as carefully as she possibly could, shifted maybe an inch along the floor. The pain was intense, but not overwhelming. Taissa saw the motion and took a step back, determined to let Lottie have her space, but ready to act if she had to.
Another shift, and Lottie was braced against the edge of the blankets now. Taissa bent down and pressed them flat against the floor under Lottie’s shoulders.
Another shift, and Lottie was half on top of the blankets.
Another shift, and Lottie was set.
Taissa reached down and took a very gentle hold on one of Lottie’s hands, rubbing her thumb across it slowly. “Hell yes,” she said, beaming down at her. “I’m so proud of you, Lot. Thank you for doing that.”
Lottie’s head fell back against the padding of the blanket and she breathed a gentle sigh of relief. With a weak grip, she closed her fingers around Taissa’s hand and held it close.
“Do you need anything else?” Taissa asked. “Water, maybe? I can bring up a bowl for you.”
Lottie nodded slowly, only then realizing how parched she actually was. It would be nice to get the taste of blood out of her mouth.
“One water, comin’ up,” Taissa said with a small chuckle. The corners of Lottie’s lips turned up in a very weak smile. Taissa held her gaze on it for a moment, before turning to move away. As she did so, though, Lottie suddenly tightened her grip on Taissa’s hand, and Taissa turned to face her again.
Lottie would force herself.
“Th–”
Taissa quickly sat back down, determined to hear.
“Thank…” Lottie gurgled out through a stationary jaw.
A beat of silence.
“Y–you.”
Taissa flashed Lottie a patient smile. “You’re welcome,” she whispered. Lottie closed her eyes and let her head fall back onto the blankets, finally releasing Tai’s hand from her grip. Taissa stood to leave, casting one more glance at Lottie, before crossing the room and carefully descending the stairs to the ground floor again.
When Misty tromped back up the attic ladder a few hours later, her hair flecked with flakes of afternoon snow, Lottie cast her a hesitant glance from her new blankets. Even from her limited field of view, Lottie could see the satisfied, smug smile Misty wore.
“I did it,” Misty said, almost breathless. “I left them out there to dry, though, because they’re still pretty wet with the snow and I didn’t want you to catch a cold laying on them.”
Lottie raised her eyebrows. ‘So generous.’
Misty crossed the floor and took a hesitant seat next to Lottie, saying nothing for a moment before leaning down inches from Lottie, her voice in a jubilant whisper. “I washed out all the blood myself. I’ll take care of these blankets later, too, if you want me to.”
Taken aback by the new unwanted closeness, Lottie tried to slide herself an inch or two away while passing it off as readjusting over an uncomfortable fold in the blankets. She nodded gently, in a way that conveyed her acceptance and trepidation in equal measure. She didn’t know if she could handle being moved by Misty again.
Misty sat back, a faint smile crossing her lips. Lottie broke eye contact and stared up at the ceiling.
“Lottie?”
Misty suddenly spoke in a voice much stronger and more confident than previously. Lottie felt a shiver run down her spine, though she couldn’t exactly place why, and she didn’t move her head but looked to face her. Misty was looking directly at her with a bizarre expression that Lottie couldn’t exactly discern; it was almost that same cloying face she’d make after she cared for Ben, a face stained with the same passionate and childlike admiration, uncanny in its earnestness. Lottie felt uncomfortable looking at it.
In a voice barely above a whisper, Misty Quigley spoke with undeniable glee.
“I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Lottie gulped.
“I’ll take care of you from here on out,” Misty continued. “Whatever you need, whatever you feel you want. I’ll do it. You just call for me, however you can. That shoe thing was very creative; you’re so smart, Lottie.”
Lottie watches as, from between Misty’s lips, black ichor begins to flow, bubbling and pooling in her jaw and around her tongue, seeping in the gaps between her teeth and spilling down her chin in a waterfall. Flecks land on the floor as Misty speaks, closing the distance between them with thick, foul-smelling bile.
“You’re safe with me,” Misty finished, the tone of her voice almost triumphant.
Lottie only stared.
That night, long after Misty and Taissa had left her alone in the solitude of the attic, Lottie startled awake to the acrid smell of smoke. Her eyes watered, thick with tears. As slowly as she possibly could, Lottie turned her head to face the hole down to the ground floor, her mind conjuring horrific visions of flickering flames licking up the attic walls; instead, she saw only the near pitch-blackness of midnight. Lottie exhaled a breath she’d caught in her throat, equal parts relieved and terrified. As she turned back to face the ceiling, she closed her eyes and tried her best to fall back into the lull of sleep.
☼
“Wake up,” she says.
Lottie awakens to see Laura Lee sitting in the hunter’s chair across from her.
Caught in the interim between dreaming and waking, Lottie blearily closes her eyes and falls back onto the blankets again, content in the assurance that obviously she’s still dreaming.
“Lottie,” says Laura Lee.
Lottie’s eyelids flicker, and she lifts her head an inch off the blanket to again see Laura Lee, sitting comfortably in the wooden chair, her back straight as a post and her hands resting on her knees.
Lottie blinks away the last vestige of sleep. Laura Lee does not disappear.
Lottie stammers, her voice incredulous and gravelly in the morning air, but though her lips move and though she thinks she talks, no sound offers itself. Laura Lee’s face is as calm as ever, as placid as Lottie remembers. There is a regality about her, a godlike nobility about her that Lottie has only seen her wear at her forest altar. Laura Lee sits confidently, commands the presence of the empty room, drawing Lottie’s eye in and holding it in a grip like a black hole. Lottie doubts she could look away even if she wanted to.
The morning sunlight creeps another inch across the floor.
Lottie tries to say Laura Lee’s name, but it does not offer itself to be spoken; despite this, however, Laura Lee leans forward almost imperceptibly so, as if egging Lottie on. Lottie again speaks her name, but again, no sound comes.
A gentle smile crosses Laura Lee’s face. The morning sunlight creeps another inch across the floor.
Laura Lee’s lips move to produce one word, one whisper into the silence of the room, and Lottie recognizes it as her name, but the voice in which Laura Lee speaks it is not the voice of Laura Lee, but a million voices at once. It is a violent, cacophonous, ear-splitting noise that is both a shriek and a whisper, a scream and a hum, and Lottie is horrified and utterly entranced.
The morning sunlight creeps another inch across the floor.
Laura Lee says it again, and Lottie wishes she could cover her ears.
Laura Lee says it again, and again, and again; her lips are moving faster now, her tone crescendoing up until the noise is almost unbearable, and now her lips are moving so blindingly fast that they don’t even match the words she’s speaking, and Laura Lee is a million people, and Lottie feels that if she doesn’t shut Laura Lee up then her own head will pop from the inside-out like an overfilled balloon.
The morning sunlight creeps another inch across the floor.
The morning sunlight catches on the hem of Laura Lee’s pink shirt, and then Laura Lee is ablaze.
Lottie watches, transfixed, as Laura Lee’s entire body suddenly erupts in flame, the roar of the fire comparable only to the sound of her speaking, and Lottie feels she is going deaf from the noise, and she cannot possibly look away from her as Laura Lee becomes consumed by the inferno. Every bit of her being wishes she could look away.
Lottie feels the first tear slip down her cheeks as she is confronted by the blinding light of the flames, her terrified eyes forced open far too wide to shut.
Laura Lee stands, still screeching in that deafening tone, and as Lottie watches, she begins to stalk forward, crossing the attic floor in slow, calculated steps. Where her feet touch the ground, embers spit up from the surface and the wood chars before Lottie’s eyes.
Lottie feels the overwhelming heat radiate from Laura Lee in waves.
Lottie smells roasting meat, and her stomach lurches in sickening familiarity.
As the blazing effigy of Laura Lee takes her place by Lottie’s bedside, as Lottie stares up into the newborn sun that stands before her, Lottie thinks for a second that, in between the flames, she can see a calm smile cross Laura Lee’s face. Lottie feels her own skin redden and cook from exposure to the intensity of the light.
Laura Lee bends down and kneels by Lottie’s blankets, sparking the wood underneath them and spitting embers onto the cotton; Lottie moves to smother them before the blankets catch.
Lottie watches as Laura Lee extends a trembling hand, moving closer and closer to Lottie, and then Laura Lee is holding Lottie’s cheek, and Lottie has never felt a greater pain than in this moment. Lottie wishes so desperately to scream, but knows no sound will come if she does.
Then, in a fraction of a second, the sound is drained from the room; the sudden silence echoes and crashes through the room and fills the walls like a gas, and Lottie’s ears are screeching and her flesh is melting under Laura Lee’s touch, and the two girls stare at each other, and Lottie stares into the eyes of the god that kneels before her.
When Laura Lee breaks the silence, it is in her own voice.
“Speak.”
Lottie feels her own jaw force itself open, dislocating with such a force it is impossible for her to have done it herself, and now the voice is coming from Lottie, and Lottie’s voice is Laura Lee’s voice, and Lottie screams, and Lottie screams and screams and screams.
Lottie squeezes her eyes shut as tightly as she possibly can, a task of Herculean strength, and she feels as if her face will peel away from the heat and she feels as if her eyeballs will explode in their sockets from the stress, and when she feels the pain so acutely and she is left with no choice but to either relieve it or feel her heart stop, Lottie opens her eyes millimeter by millimeter and Laura Lee is gone.
Lottie lay on the blankets, hyperventilating through fractured ribs and scrabbling backwards as quickly as she was able, trying desperately to get as far away as possible from the burning girl that was no longer there. She brought a violently shaking hand up to her face and felt her cheek; the skin was still bruised and bloody, still pitted and rough, but burn-free.
Lottie slowly and painfully brought her hand away, and saw fresh tears shining on her fingertips.
As the seconds droned on, Lottie’s heartbeat came slower and her breath came easier. She felt her eyelids close again as her body relaxed, and as her head gently came to rest on the cotton of the blankets underneath her, Lottie’s gaze turned towards the ceiling again, her aching eyes finding the familiar patterns in the whorls of the wood above her. This time, however, Lottie was instead drawn to something else, as a speck of dust floated from the rafters down towards Lottie’s head. The speck drifted lazily in the attic air, moving to and fro as it floated downwards, but as it came closer to her, Lottie saw that it wasn’t a speck of dust; the extinguished cinder fell gracefully through the air, down, down, down, until it landed about a foot away from Lottie’s thick, black hair, which had fanned out under her in her morning panic.
Lottie felt her breath hitch.
“Lot?”
A voice called from the entrance to the attic, and Lottie turned her gaze to see Van’s head poking through the hole. Lottie’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of her red hair and her scars, but with a slightly shaking hand, she waved weakly from her side. Van hoisted herself up the final few rungs and took a hesitant seat on the lip of the hole, eyes not leaving Lottie.
“Are you okay? We heard you screaming and I came up as fast as I could.”
Lottie must not have heard the commotion downstairs; her screaming must’ve drowned it out, she supposed. Van looked extremely worried and sympathetic, and it brought a touch of color to Lottie’s cheeks. Lottie held up a single thumbs up and tried her best to smile, to which Van responded by nodding gently. “Good,” she said. “I’m glad to hear you’re alright. We were all worried; you scared us half to death.”
Lottie beckoned for Van to come closer, and Van shuffled over to take a more permanent spot next to her. When Lottie tried to speak, her voice was slow and crackly, raw from screaming and barely above a whisper.
“I… s–saw… Laura L–Lee.”
Van instantly furrowed her eyebrows, moving closer to Lottie. “What do you mean, you saw her? How is that possible?”
Lottie considered before replying. “W–wildern–ness.”
Van paused. “The wilderness showed you Laura Lee?”
Lottie nodded.
“Why? What is it trying to tell you?”
Lottie shrugged.
Van exhaled a confused breath. “Well… no wonder you were screaming. I’m so sorry, Lot. That fuckin’ sucks.”
Lottie closed her eyes and waved her hand. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
Someone’s voice called up from downstairs; Lottie was too tired to think of whose exactly it was, but Van yelled back, “We’re fine! She’s okay! Just had a bad dream is all.”
Lottie gently took Van’s hand in her own and gave it a soft squeeze. “Go,” she croaked out.
Van turned back to look at Lottie. “You sure? I don’t want to leave you up here if you need someone.”
Lottie smiled again. It hurt a bit more this time. “Go,” she repeated, rubbing her thumb across Van’s hand.
Van bit her lip, before nodding and rising to leave. “If you need anything,” she insisted, “you call for me, okay? I’ll be back up later to talk. I know it must be lonely as a bitch up here.”
Lottie’s head fell back against the blankets and her eyes closed, as she waved Van away with a shaking hand. Van chuckled to herself, before returning to the ladder and descending it slowly.
As she climbed down, her gaze never left Lottie.
☼
When Lottie next saw Van, the sun had sunk beneath the horizon and the brilliant purples and oranges of late evening shone through the foggy window. Lottie had been able to watch the colors of the sunset change on the far wall, and she had to admit that it was nicer to watch the change rather than the apparition of Laura Lee.
The shrieking still echoed in Lottie’s ears.
Van had brought up a bowl of water for Lottie after dinner, and had gently cleaned some of the dried blood off her face. She had made some terrible joke about the two of them having matching face scars, which had come close to making Lottie chuckle before she cried out in pain from moving her jaw. This was met with a few dozen apologies from Van; despite the pain, honestly, it was the best Lottie had felt since before the fight.
As night truly fell, Van found herself sitting by Lottie’s side, leaning up against the side of the attic wall, sharing the day’s events in a relaxed, comfortable tone. Lottie was only half-listening, her mind preoccupied with the request she was going to make.
“You know everyone misses you down there, right?” Van said to the empty room. “They don’t seem to realize that they can just… climb the fucking ladder and come talk to you. They talk about you as if you’re a million miles away.”
Lottie pondered this statement but didn’t reply. Van cast a look down at her. “I think it’s just because they miss you. They got so used to going to you for their every little whim, and now that you’re not down there, they’re all kinda floundering around. They need their fearless leader.”
Oh, Lottie couldn’t possibly explain how badly she hated the title of “fearless leader.” This dissatisfaction must’ve shown on her face, as Van quickly continued, “I mean, not to put that much pressure on you; they’re all super worried about you too, obviously, and they just miss you. Your presence means a lot to them, and you help a lot of them feel safe and grounded. It’s hard to feel that without you there.”
‘Hard to feel that without me there…’ Lottie thought.
“I’ve tried to do the prayer circles,” Van confessed, a smile in her voice. “I’m not nearly as good at leading them as you are, but I’ve tried. Tai’s been helping me out however she can, and the group all seem to be enjoying it and getting something from it, and I guess that’s all that matters in the end, right..?”
Lottie didn’t reply.
“Lot?” Van asked, in a tone tinged with worry. “You’re being awfully quiet.”
“Sorry,” Lottie whispered.
“No, no, it’s okay,” Van assured her. “Don’t talk if you don’t want to. I just wanna make sure you’re alright, is all.”
Ask.
“Van?” Lottie asked, in a trembling voice no louder than a whisper.
“Lot..?” Van replied, trying and failing to hide the note of sudden worry.
“C–can you…” Lottie began, as Van leaned forward to hear.
Lottie took a breath.
“Can y–you… get me… s–something?”
Taken aback, Van nodded emphatically. “Of course, Lot; what do you need?”
“Jackie’s n–neckl–lace.”
Van bolted forward, standing up instantly in one motion. “Why on earth do you want Jackie’s necklace?” she asked, her voice suddenly deeply panicked.
Lottie turned her gaze to make eye contact with Van again. “I n–need it,” Lottie said. “For w–when it happ–happens.”
Van shook her head. “No. No, Lot, I’m not gonna give you Jackie’s necklace. You know what that means, you know what power that thing holds. It’s not for you.”
“Pl–ease,” Lottie begged.
“No!” Van said, even more forcefully, and the sudden sound made Lottie recoil a bit. Noticing this, Van took a seat again, resting a gentle hand on Lottie’s thigh. “Sorry,” she whispered out. “I don’t wanna do that for you, Lottie, because I know you know what it means to wear Jackie’s necklace.”
“I need it,” Lottie replied, in a tone confident enough to prevent her stammering.
Van hesitated for a split second; nobody else would’ve been able to notice it, but Lottie saw it.
“I…” Van began, before trailing off. Lottie waited.
“I can’t,” Van exhaled. “None of the other girls would let that happen. You’re too important.”
“I’m n–not imp–portant,” Lottie whispered.
“Yes, you are!” Van shot back. “Yes, Lottie, you are important! You are important because you give these girls hope! You give them something to believe in, give me something to believe in! Yeah, Misty keeps us healthy and Natalie tries to keep us fed, but you keep us sane, Lot. You keep our minds healthy. You can’t give yourself up because you’re too important. We can’t do this without you.”
Lottie cringed at the last sentence. Van, breathing hard from the passion in her voice, closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Look,” she continued. “I understand why you let Shauna do this to you. I think you had really great intentions; you just wanted Shauna to let go of that pain that was clouding her vision, right?”
Lottie nodded.
“Okay, and so it would follow that, if Shauna took this too far and hit you too hard, it’s on Shauna, right?”
Lottie nodded again, hesitantly this time.
“So you’re not going to give yourself up for something that isn’t your fault. Shauna did this to you, and it fucking sucks that you have to deal with the aftermath, but I’m not gonna let you throw your life away because of it.”
Lottie was silent.
“You’re gonna get better,” Van continued. “You’re gonna get better, and you’re gonna lead us all outta this hellhole, and Shauna’s gonna apologize and everything’s gonna be okay.”
Lottie felt a horrible sinking feeling in her chest.
Van looked directly at Lottie, looked through her. “I’m never going to let that necklace touch your neck, Lot. I’ll make sure of it myself.”
And then Van did the one thing Lottie would never have wanted her to do, and she fucking knelt, bowing her head in reverence.
Lottie felt sick.
After a few seconds, Van arose, her face confident and resolute, with a smile ghosting her lips. Lottie wanted nothing more than to sink through the floor.
“You’re gonna be okay, Lot,” Van said reassuringly. “You have to be okay. For their sake.”
Lottie stared at the ceiling. Shame gripped her too tightly to allow her to speak again.
“For my sake,” Van added, in a tone barely above a whisper.
☼
“Wake up,” says Laura Lee.
When Lottie stirs fitfully awake, Laura Lee is crouched deep down, hands resting on her knees, the balls of her feet digging directly and painfully into Lottie’s shattered chest. Her face is maybe an inch from Lottie’s, her eyes open ghoulishly wide and staring at Lottie with an unceasing, unblinking gaze.
Lottie has grown accustomed to the sight of Laura Lee, and so does not flinch. She instead struggles painfully for a breath; a raspy inhale is all she feels she can manage, and as she exhales in short, staccato bursts, Laura Lee’s body moves with it.
Laura Lee is smiling.
Lottie does her best to turn her gaze from Laura Lee’s face and her eyes find Van, resting up against the wooden attic walls to Lottie’s left, fast asleep and snoring softly. Lottie considers calling for help. The urge is quelled almost as quickly as it appears.
“Lottie,” Laura Lee says in that same haunting tone that shouldn’t be able to come from a mouth like hers, and Lottie turns back to see crackling fire in Laura Lee’s eyes.
Laura Lee digs her toes into Lottie’s chest and Lottie uses all her strength to gasp in pain and discomfort, and Laura Lee reaches forward and places a delicate hand on Lottie’s cheek, and it’s softer than Lottie remembers, and then she’s moving forward and Lottie’s heart is racing and then Laura Lee’s lips brush against Lottie’s.
Lottie hears the wind echoing in through the tiny chips in the foggy window pane.
Lottie feels the rough splintered surface of the attic floorboards under her feet.
Lottie looks directly ahead, and she sees the forest.
Splitting from the surface of the moss and dirt and leaves, like an iceberg jutting from the surrounding whitecaps, is a monumental wooden structure, regal and imposing against the sea of green, and Lottie cannot turn her eyes away from it and Lottie realizes it is her altar. It is hollow and curved, maybe only a few feet around, but Lottie knows the wood is strong. Sprouting from its surface are dozens of wax candles, most extinguished, but some with smoldering wicks that still spit ephemeral trails of smoke into the forest air, drifting on the lazy breeze.
Lottie knows this altar well.
From underneath Lottie’s feet, a deep rumbling sound begins to emanate through the loosely packed earth, sending vibrations through the ground and into the trunks of the trees. A few stray leaves twirl to the ground, dislodged by the noise. Lottie struggles slightly to maintain her balance.
As Lottie watches, unable to tear her gaze from the altar, the rumbling begins to grow, as if a great machine is drawing closer, pulsing its way through the earth like a steam engine, and then it is just below the surface, and then it pushes itself through.
A shock of white, a glinting flash of keratin, a glimpse of an eye.
Lottie watches a great white wolf claw its way through the dirt, sprouting from the hollow space within the altar, filling it easily and spilling out of it to take its place before Lottie. Its snow-white fur is flecked with loose soil, and its lungs pant with exertion from its climb to the surface. Lottie is suddenly wracked with a deep, instinctual terror that she is unable to suppress.
Lottie swallows. The wolf’s eyes meet hers, and Lottie sees a flicker of hunger, and she knows it as hunger, for she recognizes it.
The wolf takes a single trepidatious step, inching closer to Lottie and pulling its lips back to reveal rows upon rows of razor sharp teeth. Though she wishes to stand her ground, Lottie feels a primal force within her hoist her leg up and place it shakily behind her, forcing a step backwards. She hears the dull thump of her boot on the floorboards.
Lottie doesn’t know how she knows it, but she knows the ground is unstable.
Then the wolf is still, and Lottie feels her heartbeat in her throat, and she feels a hand at the small of her back, and it is the hardest thing in the world to tear her eyes from the wolf, but when she turns she sees Laura Lee.
Laura Lee is smiling.
“Cut the thread,” Laura Lee croaks out.
Lottie is puzzled at the prophecy and furrows her eyebrows in confusion. She turns back to again meet the steadfast gaze of the wolf, still standing like a specter amongst the forest green, and then Lottie remembers a flash of red hair and a splash of deep crimson.
In one motion, in one brief second, the wolf sinks below the forest floor, with a deafening cracking sound that terrifies Lottie to her very core. Lottie lunges forward to the edge of the gaping hole in the forest floor, and she watches in horror as the shock of white falls, and falls, and falls, and falls, until it is snuffed out of sight.
Lottie digs her fingers into the loose forest earth, and she digs her fingers under the borders of the world and she hoists it away, and as she does so, Lottie startled awake to see the attic walls again. Lottie quickly blinked herself awake, shuffling off sleep and the adrenaline of the nightmare, swallowing away the bitter taste in her mouth as she tried desperately to reorient herself. As her breathing began to slow, Lottie reached a gentle and tentative hand to her heart and felt it pounding under her skin like a great white steam engine.
Lottie’s head fell back gently against the sheets Taissa had laid for her, and her hand gently fell by her side.
“Lot?”
Lottie slowly turned her head to see Van peering around at her; Van’s voice was also groggy, and it became apparent to Lottie that Van had slept next to her. Though she couldn’t explain it, the thought sent a slight shiver down Lottie’s spine.
“Van,” Lottie whispered out, trying desperately to keep her face as still as possible. “Y-you’re going to d–die.”
Van’s face furrowed and she blinked in confusion. “What… what do you mean, I’m going to die?”
“I s–saw it,” Lottie insisted. “Just n–now.”
Van moved a bit closer, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. “I’m not gonna die, Lot.”
“Yes, you are,” Lottie said, her voice stronger.
“What makes you think I’m gonna die?” Van asked, placing a gentle hand on Lottie’s knee.
“Wh–white… wolf…” Lottie said.
“White wolf,” Laura Lee repeats.
“White wolf?” Van asked.
“The wilderness,” Lottie began, “sh–showed me… a white wolf.”
“And you think that that means me?” Van asked again, hesitantly this time.
Lottie nodded.
“Cut the thread,” Laura Lee whispers. Lottie shut her eyes and willed her to disappear when she next opened them.
“Because of the whole wolf thing?” Van asked, trying to keep a chuckle from entering her voice. “Lot, I’m not gonna let any wolves get to me anymore. I’m upstairs in the attic with you, on the second floor; if any wolves got in they’d have to climb the ladder to get to me, and that’s not even close to possible.”
She paused, before continuing with a smirk, “Plus, if any wolves did try to get in, Tai’d just take care of ‘em like she always does.”
Lottie gritted her teeth and reached out to smack Van gently on the shin, and her vision blurred from the pain of the impact but she did not cry out. Van’s tone instantly changed to a much more serious one. “Hey, listen,” she said, “I’m just joking around, okay? I’m allowed to joke about stuff like this; it’s my coping mechanism.”
“Do you trust me?” Lottie asked, in a voice she hoped against hope conveyed the magnitude she needed.
Van considered the question.
“Yes, I do,” she finally replied.
“Liar,” Laura Lee hisses.
“Then l–listen… to me,” Lottie insisted, again paying no attention to Laura Lee.. “You… are g–going… to… die.”
Van said nothing, but turned away from Lottie’s gaze, biting her lip gently. After a moment, she turned back and asked, “How?”
Lottie shivered at the idea of recalling that nightmarish cracking sound.
“F–falling,” she began. “Thr–through… ice.”
“Falling through ice,” Van repeated under her breath. “And you think this is gonna happen to me, because…”
“White w–wolf,” Lottie supplied.
Van nodded, pondering the statement and trying to make sense of it. Lottie didn’t speak.
“Well,” Van finally said, breaking the silence, “the only patch of real ice around here is the lake, and we know that’s frozen solid, right? So, I stay away from the lake, and we’re all good.”
Lottie didn’t reply but whined out a rebuttal, wordlessly willing Van to take her more seriously.
“Lot,” Van continued, “it’s not that I don’t believe you; I know that you’ve never been wrong before, but… but I’m a smart girl. I’m not gonna let myself fall through the ice. I know about that danger; I’ve known about that danger forever.”
“Y–you don’t… believe… me.” Lottie whispered.
Van reached out and took Lottie’s hand in her own, and Lottie sucked in a breath through her teeth. “I do believe you, Lot,” Van said. “I just… I’m reassuring you that it’s not gonna happen. I’ll be extra safe from now on, okay? I promise.”
“You don’t… believe me.” Lottie repeated.
Van said nothing, but exhaled a breath that told Lottie she was beginning to get annoyed now. Lottie shrunk back, and pulled her hand gently out of Van’s. Van made no move to grab it again.
“Let’s just…” Van muttered, “let’s just get some sleep, yeah? We can talk about this another time.”
Lottie thought about pushing it, about insisting again despite Van’s refusal, but in the end, realized she had no fight left in her. Lottie shifted an inch away from Van, trying desperately to at least feel a little comfortable, and turning her gaze to the ceiling of the attic.
“Cut the thread.”
Lottie’s gaze strayed from the ceiling to her right, and she beheld Laura Lee sitting next to her, crouched just as she was in her dream, perhaps six inches from Lottie’s face.
Lottie said nothing, but watched Laura Lee’s face change.
“Cut the thread.”
Laura Lee’s eyeballs begin to quiver and bubble.
“Cut the thread.”
Laura Lee’s eyeballs begin to scorch away like hot wax, slowly melting in their sockets and dripping down her cheeks and chin, and landing in splotchy, gooey puddles on the floor below.
“Cut the thread.”
With every ounce of effort in her, Lottie Matthews closed her eyes.