My brother is nothing if not completely paranoid.
I can’t help but wonder how our lives would be different if our parents hadn’t died, but there’s a time and a place for reminiscing, and it’s not while walking through animal-infested forests.
Each time I hear a sound, I jump. What’s lurking for me in the darkness today? Does door number one have ghosts or ghouls? What about door number two? Goblins or witches? I force myself to keep moving even though each noise has me cringing. Tears threaten to pour over and I finally realize that it’s time to stop for the night.
I’ve come as far as I possibly can.
I find an oversized oak tree with big ol’ branches and I climb up a little ways. Sleeping in a tree overnight seems stupid. Sleeping on the ground seems stupider.
I use rope from my bag to tie myself loosely to the tree. I plan to sleep sitting up with my legs on the big branch, but if I accidentally slip, this will ensure I wake up before I’m able to fall. I put my knife in my front pocket. If I need to get out of here quickly, I’ll cut through the ropes. I don’t have time to deal with untying them in a pinch. My knife will work just fine.
Goodness knows it’s sharp enough.
I lean against the trunk of the tree and close my eyes. I try to relax. Deep breaths: in and out, in and out. Only, no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop my brother’s face from popping into my head. I can’t stop the images of my grandmother’s body. I can’t stop imagining that somehow, somewhere, Jeffrey is going to find me.
I can’t stop thinking of my brother killing me for my inheritance.
I sit in the tree, bark scratching into my back, for what feels like hours. I hear howls. There are wolves in the woods, I know, but there can’t be many. How many could really be in a place like this? My grandmother used to say they were more afraid of me than I was of them, but I know that’s a crock.
Even grandma was scared of the wolves, though she never really told me why. We both knew Jeffrey was a shifter. I figured it out as a teenager even though my mom kept it a dark secret. I don’t think my dad ever knew.
I don’t think he wanted to.
It’s not a full moon, but the howls continue into the early hours of the morning. Somehow, before the sun comes up, I manage to fall asleep sitting up in the tree.
In my dreams, I’m running from my brother. I’m running from him and the other wolves and no one can save me. I open my mouth to scream, but there is only silence. Nothing comes out of my mouth. I can’t make a sound. Moving as quickly as possible, I run until my legs collapse, and then they take me.
I wake covered in sweat and cut myself loose.
There will be no more sleeping in trees for me.
2.
Red
The path to grandmother’s house is long and narrow, and winds through the woods like a mystery to be solved. It doesn’t begin at the edge of the woods, the way a normal path would. No, this path doesn’t begin until you’re almost halfway to the cabin.
And even then, you have to know where you’re looking.
It’s not a normal path. It’s not dirt. It’s not a foot trail. No, this path is marked with small, yellow stones.
Grandmother’s stones.
I don’t know why she chose yellow. Each heart-shaped little stone was carved and painted by hand. I always know when I’m getting close to her place because I can see them. I see the stones and they guide me. Even if it’s dark, even if I’m tired, even if I’m weary, I know I can follow the stones.
When I pass the waterfall, I know I’m close to the beginning of the path. I look longingly at the water for a few minutes. It’s been ages since I swam in the waters beneath the fall. It’s been years. As a girl, my grandmother would bring me to the cabin and we’d spend a whole day just playing in the waterfall before setting up camp for the night.
We always camped.
Always.
Now, as I think about how I slept in a tree last night, I’m questioning my sanity. Was this what Grandmother would have wanted for me?
Would she have wanted me to seek refuge at her cabin?
Would she have wanted me to do something else?
Maybe she expected that I would stand up to Jeffrey. Maybe she thought he wouldn’t find out until long after her death that I was the sole heir. Surely, though, she had to know. Part of me thinks she had to know. He is the true heir of her fortune. He’s the firstborn. And me?