The Deep Dark
Lisbeth felt another broken branch claw at her hem, ripping through one of the few tatters that still held together. She had hurled herself into the woods at such a breakneck pace that the first huge chunks that were torn from her dress barely slowed her down. There had been so many times in the last several months that Lisbeth had shown incredible restraint. She looked down and stayed silent when they came for her Mother, she held her hand over her Brother’s indignant mouth and gripped tightly with the other her Sister’s writhing hand as they dragged away her steadfast, loyal Father. They came for her siblings two days later, citing their outlandish behavior as sufficient evidence. For months on end, she prayed that reason would prevail, but after watching her neighbors turn on each other for nothing more than a misinterpreted glance, she knew that she could no longer hold out hope that restraint would save her.
Earlier that night, Lisbeth was in the midst of the most fitful, disturbed sleep of her life. In between waking, she kept returning to this dream that left her in a cold sweat: She was walking the tree line on the edge of town as twilight descended upon her. A soft laugh began in the woods, growing closer and more untamed with each giggle. Suddenly, from a rustling in the bushes, a shining golden orb burst forth at her feet, tumbling past her at a breakneck pace. She chased it through the town, and as it passed by each doorway, she watched her neighbors join in the chase after it with unbridled devotion. The golden lure made its way around town at a breakneck pace, and then led each one of its new admirers straight back to the trees and thicket from which it had emerged. As Lisbeth approached the tree line, bringing up the rear of the horde, a thick mist clouded her vision, and all she could make out was a hovering set of branches that seemed to form a crude symbol. A hushed, sharp command from the clouds implored her,
“Come find me.”
Lisbeth was immediately torn from her sleep by the commotion outside. Shadows danced across her face as a dozen angry flames flickered and several voices shouted. They had come for Sarah and Abigail, and they would not be satisfied with their pleas of waiting until morning. She watched as they tore the baby boy from Sarah’s arms, forcing him into the shaking hands of his father, who was wide eyed and frantic. Abigail sat sprawled across the cold ground, sobbing and begging for the men to return her doll, a simple figure she had made herself from the husk of an ear of corn the previous winter. As a handful of the men forced Sarah and Abigail together on to the cart, Lisbeth noticed the three men at the end of the worn path to her own door. It appeared as if they were straining to see into her windows. She could feel her heartbeat creep up from her chest, into her face, and take up a loud, pounding residence in her ears. She could not make out what the men at the end of the path were saying, but she knew that if they did not come for her that night, they would be back, and soon. She pulled her dress from the day before over her head, and crammed her feet into her shoes as fast as she could. She was not going to give them the opportunity to find her at home that night.
Sneaking out of a small window at the back of the house, Lisbeth’s legs were running before she even had time to think. She headed straight for the trees she had seen in her dreams, and she made her way through the woods and the underbrush as fast as she could. She did not know how long she had been running or how far she was from the town, but the burning in her lungs started to demand attention. She soon came across a clearing that was illuminated by the clear, crisp moon above her, and decided it would be a safe place to catch her breath. What she found in that clearing is more than she could have bargained.
