I don't usually write stories like this.
But I was told this story by a friend and needed to write it.
Based on a true story from Indian Head, Saskatchewan.
A short horror story.
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Inside the house my wife was laid on the couch. Penelope was sat on the floor pushing a wooden toy train around some tracks. With the filled-in window it was dark in our little dining room. Cement had fallen and splashed the floor boards like wet sand dripped through tiny fingers. I crouched down next to my wife. My wife's features were pallid, her dark eyes that used to flash like polished onyx were sunken and dull.
"Darling." I said gently.
She rolled away from me. Pulling a white sheet around her shoulders. She hadn't spoken in days. I could barely get her to drink.
"Is mummy dying?" Penelope asked still pushing the train round the track. She had dark features like her mother, thick black hair and the same shining dark eyes. My children were pictures of their mother in miniature, anyone would have mistaken them for fully-Cree.
"No. Penelope my sweetheart." I scooped up my daughter kissing her forehead. "She is just sick. She will get better. Let's put on some tea."
I put my daughter down on a small chair in our kitchen, placed the kettle on the range and dropped in the metal strainer filled with dried Saskatoon berries and tea leaves. Looking out towards the town of Indian Head I couldn't help but think back to how we got like this.
