H A U N T E D

f o u r

f o u r

We arrive back home, my grandfather seemingly in the best mood he's been ever since I arrived yesterday morning. While driving home, he pointed out some of the stores in town and explained to me what route would be the best to take to go to school tomorrow morning.

We enter the house and Finn excuses himself from the conversation, heading back to the shed in the backyard. I watch his retreating back and decide to unpack the groceries. I keep my new school supplies in one pile, put the bottle of orange juice and my chocolate bar in the refrigerator and unpack the containers filled with seeds I bought. Finn did say I could make up my small garden from back home, here.

My heart aches when I think about my garden. My mother and I worked hard on it, helping our roses to flourish, to keep the smell of lavender fresh in the morning and my mother using our sage for her cleansing appointments. Every morning, I'd open my bedroom window and take in the fresh scent of our flowers.

And now, it's gone. The new homeowners made sure that was the first thing they replaced, building a deck over it.

I take the seeds and move out to the backyard, walking to the small nook Finn said I could use. I look around for the gardening set, but can't seem to find it. After making sure it's not hidden in plain sight, and I am not just being a blind idiot for not seeing it, I hesitantly walk over to the shed, where I can hear some muffled music play. I lean against the door with my ear, listening to the singing from within. Finn mumbles along to some words and the sound of metal scratching causes me to flinch. I back away from the door, before the possibility of being caught, become a reality and knock on the door.

The music comes to an abrupt stop and boots move around, as well as some cussing. The door opens and Finn glares down at me, his dirty oiled hands on his hips. I give a sheepish smile and tuck my hair behind my ear, keeping my eyes on his.

"Sorry for bothering, grandfather, I was just wondering where the gardening tools are?"

His glare softens and he turns around, shutting the door behind him. I don't even get the chance to turn around before he reappears, handing me a shovel and a watering can. I thank him and walk back to my nook, starting the progress of planting my new seeds.

The progress is slow and therapeutic, and I gently pat the wet soil when I'm done. I take out a silver token, muttering the blessing of harvest over it and planting it in the small hole I dug just for it. I pile it up with dirt and pat it down once again, getting ready to stand up and wash my hands, when the familiar chill runs down my spine.

A muttering nearby calls for my attention and I luckily catch myself in time from looking over to where the desperate mumbles for help echo throughout the property. I position myself to make it seem as if I'm still busy with my gardening, when in fact I have the woods in clear sight. From the trees, an indigenous woman stumbles out of the forest, still dressed in her traditional clothing. She holds her side with both hands, colored with rusty red that stains her clothing. Her russet skin is pale and covered with a thin layer of sweat.

She desperately pleads for help, over and over again, stumbling towards our property. With every step she takes, closer to me, my hands start to tremble with anticipation and fear. The wind picks up her scent, the ageing smell of wildflowers, mud and flames.

Just as she's about to cross the property line of the forest and the yard, a far-off sound of something rustling in the woods startles the both of us. The woman turns her head, her eyes wide with fear, before she runs back into the woods, muttering about how cold it is.

I let the tools fall, not caring to put them back in the shed, before running to the house. The sun dips behind the mountains, and it is twilight.