The Seamstress

Fabric in the Snow

The woman slowly licks her lips as she gazes upon her prey--a boy this time, a small one. She was hungry, oh yes... She had been busy preparing for the girl, so busy she hadn't had time to eat.

A squeal of excitement rises in her throat as she drags the little boy's body into the forest, leaving smears of scarlet blood in the snow.

"Dinner time."

*

A pitch-black room greets me as I groggily open one eye. I sit up; something jarred me from sleep. The cold is worse now since it's so late at night--or maybe it's early in the morning...

"YOWL!"

"Just a stray cat," I mumble grumpily. Rude. And I was having a nice dream, too. I lay back down, pulling the blanket closer to me and away from Zinnia. Just before I succumb to sleep once more the door bangs open and a dark figure steps inside.

I squeak and clutch Zinnia's arm instinctively, squeezing so hard she wakes up. She hisses at me. "You took the blanket!"

"It doesn't matter, you won't be needing it. Time to get up," Aunt Queenie says. She walks over to the beside and switches on the light.

"But it's so early," I say, rubbing my eyes as I reluctantly shrug off the blanket.

"It's 6:00 AM," Aunt Queenie says. Her hair is pulled into a ponytail, and she's wearing a purple sweater with jeans.

Hmph. At home we wake up at 7:30. And this isn't even a school day!

*

After we finish eating, Aunt Queenie tells us to go outside. There's a small lump in my throat as I gaze out the kitchen window, and I feel the sudden urge to cry. I quickly shovel the last bite of pancake in my mouth, swallowing the lump along with it.

I feel so alone.

I still can't believe my dad left me in such an unfamiliar place--and with Zinnia, of all people! We may be sisters, but we're nowhere near close. I miss my mom. Maybe if she hadn't chosen to go to Canada to see her friends, I wouldn't have to be here.

I feel something soft brush against my legs. I jump, peering under the table, and see the biggest cat I've ever seen in my life.

I quickly scoot away. It's huge, so huge that if we laid down next to each other we'd be the same size. Piercing yellow eyes stare out at me, framed by coal-black fur, and the shining tips of two long teeth peek out from its upper lip. "What is that?" I cry.

Aunt Queenie's gaze shifts over to where I'm pointing. "Oh, that's just Sylvester," she says, brushing it off. "He's been living here for quite a while."

"How long?" Zinnia asks.

Aunt Queenie pauses, thinking. "25 years," she says.

I don't know much about cats, but I don't think they're supposed to live that long; maybe the cats here live longer than the ones in Florida.

*

Aunt Queenie says she needs to get some work done, so we pull on our jackets and open the door, stepping out into the biting cold. I watch with mild interest as my breath comes out in small white puffs.

"Wait," says Aunt Queenie. She grabs Zinnia's shoulders and fingers the zipper of her jacket.

"Don't you have a coat?" she asks, releasing her.

Zinnia shakes her head. "Florida doesn't get snow," she explains, looking slightly disgruntled as she straightens her jacket. "So we just have jackets."