Sarah Keaton theoretically made her living as an insurance investigator. Empowered, and researching empowered incidences, but just an investigator. The number of times her door had been burned down, broken open, displaced to a different dimension, or turned invisible was too high for any civilian citizen, though. Even if the last one had been a prank. Now Sarah stood at the bottom of her stairs and frowned up at her porch. The screen door--always squeaky, never to squeak or be oiled again--had folded almost in half, ripped off of the top hinges and propped up on the bent metal rail. It had been torn and mangled by the heavy wooden door that was no longer a door, was now a tree with roots that clung. The lower branches pushed their way out through the windows to either side of the had-been-a-door. The upper trunk shoved through the doorway and the wall above it, up to grow fierce and glad through a hole it made in the roof. Sarah cursed as she kicked aside a dislodged shingle. There was space to either side of the tree through which Sarah, when she moved up a few steps, could see her ransacked living room and then the kitchen. Something had tipped the fridge.
Sarah grasped the radio clipped to her florescent vest, and then she hesitated. "Buster, stay, and stay on the concrete," she said. The boxer whined, but he sat there on the cracked and pitted walk. The Grasshopper took a quick inventory. She tossed aside her duffel and kicked off her steel-toed boots before she reached for her fly. Sarah replaced her shoes once her legs were bare. She began toward the stairs, and then stopped. She pushed up her sleeve to reveal a bracelet made of wooden beads. They'd been dyed a variety of colors; the largest in the center was green, and brown and purple flanked it. The other, smaller ones were plain. After a moment, Sarah unclasped the bracelet and set it gently on the concrete. Then, her face set, she went up the stairs and shrank to fit between wood and wall.
"Marley May?" Sarah called once she'd made it through the door. She didn't return to her full size, not yet. "Are you here?" She stepped over the remains of the bench where she sat to remove her shoes. The mud porch had probably not helped the tree in the doorway to grow; the mud was mostly synthetic fibers and dust. "Marley May?" Sarah waded through the detritus of her life: strewn papers, feathers from gutted pillows, glass that crunched underfoot. No greenery. Nothing to suggest that anything but an angry whirlwind had come through.
Sarah made it midway into the living room. The hall to the bedrooms and bathroom split here. The bathroom door was closed, and the bedrooms open. Sarah craned her neck where she stood; she wouldn't be able to see into the closets or into the furthest corners from here, but she took stock before she moved. Sarah stepped closer slowly. She investigated one bedroom--hers, just as wrecked as the rest of the house--and then the other. Only a handful of things had been destroyed here, and Sarah let her breath out slowly.
This had always been her cousin's room more than that of her cousin's wife, even though Rhea Rose had never lived here. A storage space. A memorial. Calli could teleport and access her family's shared pocket dimension. She'd kept most of herself aside, making more room for her wife's things. The few items Calli needed on a daily basis--a set of clothing, a spare top hat, a few small pots of makeup, all clustered like invaders on the desk where the terrariums stood empty.
At least, Calli's items had been there. Now, makeup stained the carpet in accusing red and garish blue. Calli's costume sprawled over the tipped-over desk chair. Sarah stepped in, careful to avoid the blushes and lipsticks ground into the floor. She lifted the magician jacket with two fingers and sucked in her breath at the ragged tears running throughout the cloth. She found Calli's top hat within the box made by the chair's three remaining legs, but something had ripped the brim away and broken in the top. Sarah straightened up from her inspection. She returned to the short hallway and the closed bathroom door.
"Marley May?" she called again. Sarah reached for the bathroom doorknob. The door swung open. Her eyes widened at the wall of greenery--but that phrase was misleading. Wall suggested a boundary with an end, and the vines and grasses growing there had no end, were so tightly packed that at her smallest, Sarah could never pass through.
"Shit." Sarah turned, but the vines were already moving.
Sarah grasped the radio clipped to her florescent vest, and then she hesitated. "Buster, stay, and stay on the concrete," she said. The boxer whined, but he sat there on the cracked and pitted walk. The Grasshopper took a quick inventory. She tossed aside her duffel and kicked off her steel-toed boots before she reached for her fly. Sarah replaced her shoes once her legs were bare. She began toward the stairs, and then stopped. She pushed up her sleeve to reveal a bracelet made of wooden beads. They'd been dyed a variety of colors; the largest in the center was green, and brown and purple flanked it. The other, smaller ones were plain. After a moment, Sarah unclasped the bracelet and set it gently on the concrete. Then, her face set, she went up the stairs and shrank to fit between wood and wall.
"Marley May?" Sarah called once she'd made it through the door. She didn't return to her full size, not yet. "Are you here?" She stepped over the remains of the bench where she sat to remove her shoes. The mud porch had probably not helped the tree in the doorway to grow; the mud was mostly synthetic fibers and dust. "Marley May?" Sarah waded through the detritus of her life: strewn papers, feathers from gutted pillows, glass that crunched underfoot. No greenery. Nothing to suggest that anything but an angry whirlwind had come through.
Sarah made it midway into the living room. The hall to the bedrooms and bathroom split here. The bathroom door was closed, and the bedrooms open. Sarah craned her neck where she stood; she wouldn't be able to see into the closets or into the furthest corners from here, but she took stock before she moved. Sarah stepped closer slowly. She investigated one bedroom--hers, just as wrecked as the rest of the house--and then the other. Only a handful of things had been destroyed here, and Sarah let her breath out slowly.
This had always been her cousin's room more than that of her cousin's wife, even though Rhea Rose had never lived here. A storage space. A memorial. Calli could teleport and access her family's shared pocket dimension. She'd kept most of herself aside, making more room for her wife's things. The few items Calli needed on a daily basis--a set of clothing, a spare top hat, a few small pots of makeup, all clustered like invaders on the desk where the terrariums stood empty.
At least, Calli's items had been there. Now, makeup stained the carpet in accusing red and garish blue. Calli's costume sprawled over the tipped-over desk chair. Sarah stepped in, careful to avoid the blushes and lipsticks ground into the floor. She lifted the magician jacket with two fingers and sucked in her breath at the ragged tears running throughout the cloth. She found Calli's top hat within the box made by the chair's three remaining legs, but something had ripped the brim away and broken in the top. Sarah straightened up from her inspection. She returned to the short hallway and the closed bathroom door.
"Marley May?" she called again. Sarah reached for the bathroom doorknob. The door swung open. Her eyes widened at the wall of greenery--but that phrase was misleading. Wall suggested a boundary with an end, and the vines and grasses growing there had no end, were so tightly packed that at her smallest, Sarah could never pass through.
"Shit." Sarah turned, but the vines were already moving.
First, it's so nice to see an update on this blog. I will always look forward to seeing more of your work.
ReplyDeleteA lot of the time, when a description of the scenery kicks in, I get this feeling, a bit of dread in the pit of my stomach. A sense that, well, this is going to he difficult to read through and it will last for a very long time.
Here, however, I'm glad to have been wrong. It didn't feel like a setting description, it felt like a tour of some existing destruction and it seemed more natural. You didn't dwell on any one aspect, you kept a good pace and showed what needed to be shown.
My only suggestion is for the title. A Tree Grows in Acadia.