The Web of Life

My visions began the day that Alice died. We were always together, except for the ten minutes that it took for me to follow her into the world. It frightened Mother, I think, that we were so close. But maybe I knew how little time I would have with her.

Alice was much more outgoing than I. She was the one who picked games and chose clothes so we could use each other as mirrors. But for all that, I was the more fearless. Alice would panic at creepy things and heights and the dark. I removed the pests or guarded the ledge or turned on the nightlight. Maybe that’s why . . .

We were walking through the woods. Alice was talking and I was leading the way down a forgotten path—I had discovered it that morning. It had almost been nearly reclaimed by new growth and mud, but I could still see the remnants of green paving stones that curved this way and that in a line that soon hid all trace of the outside world.

At some point, she took a breath and the flow of words stopped. Silence. “That’s odd,” I said, and held up my hand. She clutched my arm. I couldn’t even hear the traffic sounds—just birds and bugs and rustling leaves. “I didn’t think the wood was big enough to not hear the highway.”

“Maybe we’re lost.” Her voice quavered. “We’ll wander for days and weeks and the police will send big dogs after us, but Mother will never see us again.”

I glanced around. The trees were bigger and greener and so thick that the sunlight glowed pale green around us. But the path was still there, in front and behind. “Don’t be silly. We can’t get lost. The path has to go somewhere.”

Slower than before, we walked forward. She wasn’t talking anymore. Our feet barely made a sound and I could hear water ahead. I had never heard water in the wood before, and there were no streams leading out.

Suddenly, the path opened into a glade. I noticed the house first. It was small, nestled into the roots of a tree. And what a tree—it was bigger than anything I had ever seen. There was a bubbling pool of water at its roots.

Alice’s fingers abruptly pinched tight enough to hurt. I turned to her in surprise—what had frightened her? She was staring into the tree. I looked. Dangling from the tree by a web of rope tied carefully around him was a man—or what looked like a man. He was naked and sunburned and nearly skeletal.

“What in the world?” My whisper was loud in the stillness of the glade, and he raised his head to look at us through his black, matted hair. His eye was blue and piercing.

He opened his mouth to say something, but only a croak came out. But he looked down at the pool, and I knew. I inched forward—with a reluctant Alice in tow.

When she realized what I was doing, she let me go and stood shivering. I didn’t have anything to carry water in, so I used my cupped hands and lost most of it as I clambered up the roots. His mouth was black and parched and so I made the trip again. And again.

At one point I fell and gashed my knee and the water I was carrying splashed into my face. I bled a bit onto the tree before wiping myself off and blinking the blur of water out of my eyes to return to the pool.

I didn’t count—but I must have brought him water ten times before he could whisper, “Thank you, sweet child. Now leave while you can. And don’t drink.”

But it was already too late. Alice screamed. I turned around to see her surrounded by three women—the young one and the one in the middle had rags about their eyes, but the old one’s eye was blue and piercing.

I looked at the man and saw the empty place where his other eye once had been and wondered why I hadn’t seen its absence before.

The old woman glared through me for a long moment then drew her hands apart and looked down at the emptiness between them. I saw two thin strands of rainbow, stretching like ribbons of glass between her fingers.

“Anna Gabrielle Kingsley.” The old woman said my name and the world caught its breath. The absence of Alice’s whimpering sounded loud in my ears. I vaulted down to take my place at her side. “She has taken and paid in ignorance. But this is not her time.”

The old woman looked at Alice and smiled, possessively. “Alice Marie Kingsley. This is your time.” She took a wickedly sharp knife from her belt and sliced through one rainbow between her fingers.

I screamed. Alice blinked and smiled at me with light and shadow bleeding from her heart. “What’s the matter, Anna? There’s nothing here. Can we go home?” I looked wildly around, but the man had bowed his head again.

The three faded away.

I grabbed Alice’s arm and hurried her back down the path.

By the time I could hear the traffic sounds again, the light was gone and she was losing only shadow. She was stumbling and burning up. I got her home as quickly as I could, and called Mother and 911. I held her hand in the ambulance while they poked holes and attached wires. They wouldn’t let me follow her into the clean room.

But I knew when she died because a last shadow touched my cheek before it faded away.

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