4 Lost in the Dark
The sky burned in red and gold, and long black shadows stretched across the ground.
The darkness of the shadows seemed deep and dense, like a mire that would suck you in if you set a careless foot within their boundaries. Searching that darkness for any kind of shape or definition made her wonder if maybe there really was something wrong with her eyes.
A long thin shadow that she couldn't go around without going around the entire block cut across her path. She took a deep breath and stepped clear over it, and told herself that the cold that seemed to cling to her skin for a moment was just her imagination. A shorter, but wider shadow cut the pavement ahead, and she turned and crossed into the street to go around it without stepping into it.
She stepped back up onto the curb, feeling a little silly. Ahead of her, a door opened with a drawn out creak that made another shiver run down her spine. A thin hand, gnarled with age, wrapped around the edge. The hand was followed by a wrinkled face with oddly bright eyes.
"Come in and get a reading," the old woman called out in a voice that still carried a lot of strength.
She looked around, but of course there was no one else nearby. She swallowed and shook her head, while saying quickly, "No thank you."
"What can it hurt?" the old woman taunted.
She glanced at the sign in the window that gave a price, and replied dryly, but without fear, "My wallet?"
The old woman laughed merrily and replied, "Fair enough little girl. But I'm feeling generous today, so come sit for a moment and have a spot of tea, and I'll roll your die free of charge."
She hesitated, but then shook her head again, and said apologetically, "Thank you for the offer, but I don't like that kind of thing."
The old woman's eyes seemed to flash, but she only said mildly, "Defining your path in advance isn't always a bad thing. But if you won't stop here, let me offer one last suggestion dear. Scrub every portal into your home. Scrub them well with a generous amount of salt, and clearly define the line between what is out and what is in."
She raised an eyebrow and asked with amusement, "Don't you mean sprinkle salt in front of them?"
The old woman rolled her eyes and pointed at the shadows behind her. "Try that nonsense and watch them tread the dance just as you do." A moment later the door shut with a sturdy thump.
She shivered again as the wind picked up, but she walked forward without looking back. Her path was circuitous, as she avoided the shadows that she couldn't see into. The sunset was lazy, and the sky stayed red for what seemed like an unusually long time. When she crossed a street a while later, a bright shopfront made her pause again.
The old woman's taunt, 'what could it hurt' echoed in her thoughts, and she stepped into the brightness.
--
The large bag of salt was heavy, and made her feel even sillier than walking around the shadows did. She was almost back to her own neighborhood when the thin man with the brown hat crossed paths with her again.
This time, his eyes gleamed red as he eyed her warily, and passed by a full arms reach away from her. He didn't touch his hat again, and she uncomfortably adjusted her grip on the heavy bag and tried to say hello. Once again, her voice seemed to be frozen, and only a faint whisper came out. He didn't react to the soft noise, but continued swiftly on his way.
"It was the sunset reflecting," she said aloud as she reached her own block. The red gleam of his eyes had to have been the fading red sun.
She crossed the street, and actually jumped across a much larger shadow than she'd tried crossing earlier, so that she didn't have to approach the tree that she'd seen snatch up a bird. She half expected to see frost on her sleeves, and the bag of salt almost felt warm, but there was no visual trace of either sensation.
--
Her cat looked at her like she'd gone daft as she scrubbed all of the windows, and the door, frames and all. She couldn't argue with his judgemental gaze. She fully intended to take the psychologist's advice and get her eyes checked as soon as possible, but like the old fortune teller had said, what could it hurt?
The coarse grains of salt even worked pretty well at removing layers of grime that she hadn't realized had built up. She made a thorough job of it, since she had gone to all the trouble of lugging the silly bag of salt home anyway.
When she finished, she took a quick shower, and then flopped onto her bed like she never intended to move again. She felt like she'd done a week's hard labor instead of just a few hours of scrubbing.
"Meow," her cat complained loudly.
"Crap," she cursed in a heartfelt tone. "I forgot to feed you didn't I?"
She drew in a long deep breath, and let it out in a sigh that seemed like it could have fluttered a paper clear across the room. And then she pried herself off of her comfortable mattress with a groan, moving as though she weighed a thousand pounds.
She dutifully refilled his bowl, and then leaned against the counter and stuffed a wedge of cheese into her own mouth. She rummaged for a bottled drink, before hobbling back to her bed and sitting on the edge, which sagged almost as though she weighed as much as it felt like.
Chewing and swallowing the cheese took a surprising amount of effort. She washed it down with the contents of the bottle, which turned out to be ginger beer, before pulling herself onto the bed fully and lying down.
She felt like the effort required to wrestle her blankets into place was enough to remake the whole bed on most days. But when her eyes closed, they didn't open again, even when her cat jumped up and walked up her body from her toes to her face. He stood there with his whiskers prickling her skin as he sniffed her breath, and she realized that she hadn't shared a crumb of the cheese with him as she usually did, but she was too tired to move again.
After a moment he settled beside her, and she fell asleep.
