Water Trails

The wind whispers to itself, playing along the old boards of a lone farmhouse, seeking a gap where it can creep inside. Moonlight falls in muted beams, casting shadows long across the bikes and toys scattered through the yard. Reaching further, it moves into the fields of corn, long ears bowed and sorrowful. Finally, it pierces through the clouds to cover a solitary cross embedded in the dirt beneath a tree-swing, the white gleam chasing away the dark. Swaying silently in the uneven breeze, the swing lurches, while the branches above stretch and scrape the milky sky.

Inside the house, the master bedroom door slides open, but no little hand is there to push it. Sound asleep, Cassie and Jacob don’t hear little steps shuffling to the foot of the bed. Nor are they roused by the quick, shallow breaths of little lungs, desperately trying to fill the void inside. Unseen and unheard, little arms grab the base and haul up until they’re crouched there, waiting.

Silently watching, little eyes take in the tired adults, free from the cares of a cruel world for a few blessed hours. Their minds are quiet but their bodies betray their restlessness- rolling, twisting, turning. Time clicks away, a soundless countdown that never ceases.

All is quiet, and all is calm.

Cassie’s leg stretches down the bed as she slumbers, and then, without warning, what sounds like thunder cracks the silence.

Jacob’s eyes fly open, scanning the darkness as his hands fumble for the phone beside him.

“What in the…who’s there?!”

Cassie scrambles up, keeping close. “Jakie…” she whimpers.

Sleepy fingers fumble the screen, but eventually his phone throws the room into a half-light, and the couple peer blearily at the shapes that slowly form around them, hearts in mouths. Malformed shadows throw themselves around the room as Jacob’s hand raises and turns, attempting to pierce the dark.

“It was so loud,” she whispers. “Jakie- it sounded like something fell…”

Cassie’s voice tails off as she catches the implications of her own words. Shuddering, her feet draw up as close as they can to the rest of her body, and her arm latches to his like a vice, nails clawing as if to never be separated again.

They inhale air in hushed but heavy breaths, as if staying quiet will keep them safe. Neither moves for the main switch on the wall. Adjusting to the dark, two pairs of adult eyes unwillingly scan the room, simultaneously wanting and not wanting to see.

The dresser, the closet, and the desk all look normal- standing still, silent and unmoving.

But the sound had been so deafening that it must have come from inside the room.

Jacob’s eyes scan the closed curtains, the slightly ajar door, then finally fall to the foot of the bed.

He silently nudges his wife, barely able to breathe.

“Cassie…look,” he murmurs, so quietly the sound barely leaves his mouth.

A trail of water snakes its way across the floor, consuming the carpet beneath them.

Mumma said that everybody goes to Heaven one day, but I don’t want to go yet. Is Heaven really in the clouds? I can’t see it from down here under the swing. The sun is nearly up, and I don’t think they’ll let me stay much longer.

I got to come back and spend one more day on the farm. That was nice. They can’t see me though- or touch me. I tried to hug Mumma and she walked right through me. It’s weird, cos I can touch other things, but I don’t wanna scare ‘em. I think maybe I’d be scared too if I saw things moving in the air by themselves.

So I just watched.

Daddy sat by himself on the porch, rocking in the chair even though it wasn’t night-time. He didn’t light his pipe either. Just stared out at the corn. Mumma spent all day in the garden, pulling out weeds. Just kept yanking ‘em out, even when she was dirty and tired. I don’t see why she did- it’s not planting season yet.

They didn’t say much either, even at dinner.

I went to go see them last night, to watch ‘em sleep. Daddy used to say that we’d see each other in our dreams. Has he seen me since? He didn’t wake up, but he kept turning over.

I curled up on the foot of the bed like I used to when I was really little. They would always pretend to shove me off with their feet, and I’d giggle and fall with a thump, and climb back on and tickle their socks ‘til they let me back on again.

Mumma stirred once and nearly kicked me, and I got scared. I fell off and backed into the dresser and that’s when I knocked Daddy’s water bottle off. I slipped through the door and ran for the stairs, taking them two at a time even though I’m not supposed to.

I grabbed the bottle to stop it rolling, so here it is, still in my hand.

I didn’t mean to frighten them. I called to Mumma but she can’t hear me anymore. Daddy can’t throw me up into the air and catch me.

I have to go now- I can feel it inside. Something’s pulling in me, and I can’t stay.

All I want is for them to know that I’m okay.

“Cassie, I still can’t find the bottle. Jacob’s voice rings out, sharp and clipped.

“You always put it on the dresser before bed- I haven’t touched it,” comes the reply, tinged with annoyance. Cassie’s barely slept, and first light catches the couple already awake, restless and yet unwilling to move from the bedroom.

Jacob had swept the room, but all he found was the clawing water, with no trace of the culprit.

“Maybe it rolled under the bed?”

Peeling open the curtains, Cassie raises an arm to shield herself from the earliest of the sun’s rays, peeking over the horizon and dispelling the lingering cloud. Her gaze sweeps from the field to the yard to the tree-swing, and the little white cross that rests below it. A lump rises in her throat, like always. About to tear herself away from the window, her eyes catch on something in the dirt, and she feels her heart jump.

“Jakie...look!”

He scrambles to his wife’s side, startled by the urgency in her voice.

The missing water bottle is there, carefully propped against the tree.

Jacob simply stares at it, confused, until he follows her gaze and sees what she does. His whole being loosens, and he reaches for his wife, pulling her close to him, his shaken breath mingled with her quiet sobs. He feels the relief of his wife as her shoulders finally release, and he places his head beside hers.

Far beneath the couple, splattered through the dirt, lies a second trail of water. Only this one is purposeful, and the messy shape betrays a once-familiar hand.

An imperfect heart, halves not quite touching, sketched so that one envelops the other. She would always say that it was Mumma keeping her safe.

Above the little cross, the tree-swing gently rocks.