Little book of stories

Warm embers

TW: child neglect, abuse

          It was cold tonight. Colder than other nights had been. The sun had long set, leaving only darkness to sweep the streets. The heat in the house had been snuffed out early into the night, leaving the living room cold. Not that she didn't mind, the cold was always more comforting than anything warm.  That's what she had figured out early in her short life. If she was used to the cold, it made no difference when momma and papa forgot to give her a blanket, made no difference if she'd been outside without proper clothes. The cold always stayed when the warmth around here was gone.
               The little quietly strolled around the living room. She was too awake to fall back asleep, not after the loud voices  of momma and papa had faded. Their voices had trailed off earlier than normal, usually they would be up for much longer, keeping her up as well. She was grateful  that they went to bed early. It would mean a better morning for her, and made her hope that she'd be able to go outside for a short while. She loved outside time, when it was early in the morning or late at night, she loved to be outside in the fresh air when everyone was quiet. Momma and papa joined her too, keeping an eye so she wouldn't get hurt or trail too far from the backyard. She liked that peaceful time with them. It's been a long time since they'd have a moment like that.
               She wandered over to the window by the old wooden door. There was a stool under the windowpane that she uses to sit on and gaze out the window. She'd never been out the front, momma warned her that there are bad people out the front door that would hurt her. She didn't want that, so she listened, staying in the house and the backyard. She was content sitting in front of the dusty window and looking out into the unknown world. It was her own space of tranquility and ease.
                She gazed out to the darkened streets, a look of sorrow evident on her face. She couldn't see the other side. It was too dark out to see the snow covered street, or even the lamp post that rested in front of her lawn. She tried to bring her face closer, hopping that she could catch a glimpse of white in the void. Glassed fogged up the minute she tried. Hastily, she rubbed the fog away. It was better to see a void of black than to see only herself. She didn't like seeing herself. She always felt wrong ability he appearance.  She was too pale she though. Too small, too slow, too thin, too much anything. The only thing she liked about her appearance was her hair. Her beautiful amber locks that flowed down her back in a small bob, her hair that reminded her of beautiful poppies in the summer, her hair that stood out from her dark brown eyes. It the only colour she liked, the crimson that flowers held in the spring. Momma didn't like her hair, she kept it short, almost to her ears saying that it's easier to manage. Papa liked her hair long. He would braid her hair after a long night, saying how it reminded him of his mom. How he would take his mothers hair and twist and turn it every night as a kid to keep the nots away. Papa would only speak of his mom when he braid her hair. She didn't mind, it was a special story time that she kept from momma.
                The little girl decide that it would be best to try and sleep. The night wasn't going to let up anytime soon. With a disappointed sigh she climbed down for the stool and casted a last glance to the window.
                She blinked.
                She blinked again.
                She rubbed her eyes to see if they were deciding her. Quickly she climbed the stool again to peer out the window. She watched as the warm orange light fly into the air and disappear. And then another one appeared. And another one after that and three more after that one. She marveld at the sight. Flying amber lights, the colour she loved to dear, appeared out of the void in a graceful swarm. They flew up and down, twirled in the air and disappeared without a trace. The ginger could no believe her eyes. It was beautiful, the most beautiful thing she had ever witnessed. Without a thought she left the stool and reach for the door, she had opened it barely an inch when she heard the snoring. She stood still as a statue. Momma and papa had told her not to go outside alone and not to go out the front door. She didn't want to make them upset, they were never nice when they were upset. But, oh how she wanted to go dance with the amber lights. From the crack in the door she could see them swirling around, almost calling her to come and play. She opened the door wider. If papa and momma didn't know she went out the she wouldn't be in trouble. She would gone a few minutes is all, and they would have never known. With a new found resolution, she quietly snuck around the door and closed it.
              Her bare feet felt the cold immediate, but she didn't care. The amber light flew around her almost in joy of a new found companion. She let out a hearty laugh at the dancing light. Soon she began to dance around them, leaping and spinning in her new found joy. Never had she felt this light and happy as she danced around the lit street. It felt magical, better than any story her papa had described to her.
               Seeing a brighter light up ahead, more red than the lights around her, she danced her way up the street. It was a new area, one that hadn't seem as dangerous as momma made it out to be. After all, how could something so wonderful be hurtful? She would never know. The farther up she went, the more wondrous it became. Along the street were statues of people, laughing, dancing, seeming to have the time of their lives. The young girl rushed to look at one of them. It was of an older man dancing with a older woman. Both seemed to be laughing in frozen joy. She marvelled at the detail of them, the creases of their clothing, the wrinkles of their conjoined hands. They seemed so incredibly lifelike. She passed by others, each as detailed as the last. A boy and his tough looking dog, a woman in stylish clothes, a man in his underclothes. All of them were wonderful. She continued to marvel at them till she reached the center square.
                There, blazing brighter than any light she had seen before, was a large crimson fire. It's light cascaded down the various surrounding streets, pushing away at the shadows. The amber lights were floating from the very top of the large flame, spreading around the town like snow. The little let out a joyous laugh. Oh how amazing this was, she thought. Sparing no moment to follow after the embers, she played and played, trying to catch or outrun the falling flames.
                Soon enough she began to grow tired. This was the most time she spent out of her home in weeks. Letting out a loud yawn, she decided to head back home before it got any later into the night. She gave the towering flames a wave goodbye before twirling back home in tired delight.

                 Andrew Conot was leaving his home after a long, restless night. It was always a restless night when the flame burned. It was becoming less frequent than before, happening less and less as the winter nights grew shorter. It was a curse disguised as a blessing. Fewer fires meant less people were lost, but they also become less predictable. Nights upon nights were lost in worry about the flame lighting the square. He and the rest of the villagers had taken precautions. Locking up and loose wood, hiding fire starters, closing up the forges. It was never enough as the flame would happen time after time, never stopping till dawn. Most nights someone was taken, their faces forever frozen in undeniable joy up and down the streets.
                Andrew hopped that tonight they were lucky. There hasn't been someone taking for the last three fires, people had been wiser than to venture out at night. Yet it didn't always stop a curious soul from wandering out.  The last one has been a young boy and his dog. He knew the child's parents. Once they had found out, they took what the could and left. The sight of their youngest child and beloved family pet had broken them in a way that many would not understand. To know that they would never hold or be with their son while they were frozen in the town square was difficult to bear. And so they left, like many families had been doing as of late. Andrew could only wish they found solace in their new lives.
               Slowly, he began to walk through the Center of town. The faces of old friends passed by as he walked, eyes open for anyone new. Andrew went up and down the streets, feeling relived as no one new had been added to the collection. He turned down the second to last street, eyeing the solid faces of the people. He almost grinned for joy at the possibility of everyone being safe. He turned back to do the last street when his smile dropped. Behind an elderly couple, the Mounts as he recalled, was a small girl frozen mid twirl. He felt his heart sink as he approached the small statue. She was young, seeming nine or ten years old. She was a scrawny thing with long limbs, wearing only an old fashioned night gown and no shoes. Her frizzy hair had been suspended in air in a way that a single touch break it. He had never seen this girl, but the remorse and pity he felt for every other child taken hadn't lessen.
                With a gentle hand he patted the girls head, a gesture he did as a farewell to children. He took a ribbon and pin from his pocket and wrapped it best he could around her neck.  It was a simple, thin black ribbon that Andrew had thought to use to signify the children lost. They didn't stay on long, as families take them as a token of their lost child. The pin was a simple metal heart to keep the ribbon in place till it was taken off. 
                He gave the hauntingly joyful girl a lost pat before heading to he town office. He had a report for the town to write.  The ver same day, a couple came down in a panic, say their child had disappeared. The parents he knew, were not the kindest nor smartest of the bunch. They caused more trouble than he would like to admit, but now, with the panic look of the mother and tear stained face of the father, he knew this news would not go lightly with them.
                 Mary Jone, a little nine year old girl with long bushy amber hair, with a love for the cold and stories, was lost in the flames of joy.