It's Not A Falling Tree

Chapter 5

Grace watches as a light quickly moves toward her and then feels a rush of heat as the door is opened and she collapses forward into the house. She's shivering violently and is having trouble forming coherent thoughts. All she knows is that after banging on the doors to four other houses and getting no response, she's finally found a home with somebody in it.

"Come on," a woman's voice says as she feels something pulling on her arm, "you need to come all the way inside." Barely processing the words, Grace weakly pulls herself forward until she hears the sound of a door sliding shut and the click of a lock.

"Grace? Jesus Christ, Grace is that you?" She hears the voice say, followed by barking and then "Charlie, goddamnit, come here and knock it off!"

Unable to do much more, Grace turns her head and sees a short woman kneeling over her. "Linda?" she whispers through chattering teeth.

"Yes," Linda replies as calmly as she can while holding Charlie back, and looking over the woman lying in front of her. This is bad, she thinks as she sets her lantern down and reaches out to feel Grace's cold, bright red hand. "We'd better go into the kitchen where it's warmer, " she says, "can you walk?"

"I don't know," Grace replies. She's exhausted and all of her limbs are numb, but her thoughts feel less scattered now.

"Come on," Linda says, gently rolling Grace over and helping her into a sitting position. "It's right over here"

With Grace's arm draped around Linda's shoulder, both women gradually rise to their feet, and begin to move across the dark house toward the kitchen. Charlie, curious as to who this strange visitor is and why she's here, follows closely behind.

With the lantern left on the floor behind them, Linda can barely see where she's going. Thankfully, the path to the kitchen is both short and clear of obstacles, so the two make it there without much trouble. After she helps Grace sit down in front of the roaring wood-burning stove, Linda leaves her with Charlie and makes her way back to where she left the lantern. She retrieves it, and heads to the linen closet at the edge of the living room.

There she grabs as many blankets as she can, takes them back to the kitchen and sets them on the floor next to Grace . "You need to get out of your wet clothes," Linda instructs as she walks over to a second lantern on the counter and turns it on. "I'll go get you something to change into." Grace nods, and, still shivering, but gradually regaining feeling in her fingers, begins to remove one of her moccasin slippers.

Back in her bedroom, Linda opens one of her husband's dresser drawers and takes from it a pair of socks, then opens another and takes a grey sweater and matching sweatpants. The clothes will probably be a little bit baggy, but Grace is too big for any of Linda's clothes, so they'll have to do.

Moments later, Linda is sitting at her kitchen island, a cigarette hanging from her mouth and Charlie in her lap. Grace, who has changed out of her wet clothes, is huddled on the floor, wrapped in several blankets. The numbness that had engulfed her body has given way to pain, especially in her fingers and ears. She worries that she might have frostbite, but she can't think of anything to do about it except to sit here and get warm.

"What happened?" Linda's voice startles her and she turns to look up at her host's shadowy face.

It takes Grace a minute to respond, she doesn't know how she's supposed to describe the events that led her here.

"Something attacked me," she finally says looking back at the wood burning stove, "tore the door off its hinges and attacked me."

"What attacked you?" Linda asks, taking a drag from her cigarette and trying to hide the incredulity in her voice. She's known Grace for as long as she's lived in Story, and she's well aware that she's been trying to drink herself to death ever since her husband died. Grace probably did something stupid while on a drunk, got spooked and ran here. That would explain why she was so underdressed for the weather, and depending on what she did, it might also explain the shotgun shells that Linda had found in the pocket of Grace's wet sweatpants when she hung them in the laundry room to dry.