21. Friday, November 3, 2023
Polly
The only time Polly doesn’t hear the whispering is when she’s sleeping.
Mostly it sounds like Gray, but sometimes it’s a voice that she doesn’t recognize at all.
One that sounds ancient and makes her belly feel hollowed-out.
No matter whose voice it is, the message is always the same—It’s in the woods.
Now and again, her sister will chime in about something, telling her to eat, or drink, or get a grip. Polly finds that comforting.
The whispering makes her feel like she’s going crazy.
What else is this, if not madness? She knows she had it coming. After what she did the night of the accident it was only a matter of time before karma caught up with her. She guesses that going mad is the way. A person can only hold on to secrets for so long before they crack.
Polly hasn’t told anyone, but they’ll probably figure it out eventually. Especially because she’s been stealing sleeping pills from her mom’s work bag. The only relief she gets from the whispering and the remembering and the horror of it all is sleep.
Her mom comes into her room throughout the day.
When she’s awake her mom asks what she needs.
When Polly replies, “Nothing,” her mom sits on the end of the bed with one hand on Polly’s foot under the blanket.
She sighs, clucks, rubs the foot, sighs some more, and then gets up saying, “Please let me help you. I’m here for you,” before leaving the room.
Within an hour she comes back to do it all over again.
Polly has no idea what’s happening to her, so how can she ask her mother for help?
Then there’s Quinn. Every now and again he’ll pop his head into the room, eyeing her suspiciously, as though what she has is contagious.
He asks if she’s okay, if she needs anything.
She mumbles a vague response and then rolls over.
She wants to apologize to him for the séance, for freaking him out, but she knows it will only lead to more questions she can’t answer.
Her dad and nana have both been in on their own.
If she can, she pretends to be asleep when they visit.
Neither of them seems particularly unnerved by her state, which she finds unnerving.
Her nana likes to throw open the curtains and comment on what a beautiful day it is, imploring her to get out there and get some fresh air.
Her dad likes to pat her arm and tell her that everything is going to be fine.
She tries not to visibly recoil from his touch.
There’s something robotically cheery about them both.
And then there’s the smell they bring—damp earth and forest air—just like Gray’s.
It’s late afternoon and Polly has just woken from a deep sleep. This morning her mom came into her room. Polly pretended to be asleep, but she could feel her mom standing above her, then felt her hand on her forehead checking her temperature like when she was a little girl.
“You need to get better,” her mother had whispered.
“I want my girl back.” After she’d left the room, Polly had lain there, the warmth of her mother’s hand still pulsing on her forehead, tears sliding slow across her face and onto her pillow.
Then she’d reached into her bedside table and taken out another sleeping pill and slept for six hours straight.
Awake again, Polly makes a decision. Because the voice keeps whispering, It’s in the woods, that’s where she’ll go.
She will go into the woods in search of her sanity.
It’s the only thing she can think to try.
Do what her mad mind is telling her to do and see what she finds on the other end.
For the first time in days, she puts on real clothes, jeans and a sweater.
She pulls her greasy hair into a ponytail and brushes her teeth.
When was the last time she did that? she wonders.
The bristles feel strange against the surface of her teeth.
The house is quiet. Her mother is at work, her brother at school, her father in his writing studio, and her nana in her cabin.
What was hard rain earlier has turned to a light mist. Polly searches for a raincoat in the hall closet and the effort almost exhausts her.
She contemplates getting back in bed but then the whispering starts again, this time louder, a chorus of voices.
She pulls on the raincoat and steps out onto the back lawn.
Her nana pokes her head out the door of her cabin.
“Getting some fresh air?” She looks hopeful.
Polly nods and her nana smiles wide. “Wonderful! You’ll feel like a new person after.
I guarantee it.” Polly nods again and forces a smile.
She picks up the pace slightly, afraid her nana will ask to join her.
She glances at her dad’s writing studio as she walks past and sees him at the window looking out.
He lifts a hand and waves, so she does the same.
A shiver races through her.
Just past the opening into the woods she stops.
Now that she’s in there, she’s no longer sure about going any farther.
The only sound is the dripping of rain onto the fallen leaves on the forest floor.
The whispers have stopped, but so has her brave determination.
She’s thinking maybe she’ll try again tomorrow when movement in the trees beside her catches her attention.
She turns to see what looks like Gray, weaving his way through the trees away from her.
“Gray?” His name feels strange in her mouth now that she knows who he really is, if not what he is.
He turns and looks at her. Without saying a word, he turns back and keeps moving.
She steps off the path to follow him, forgetting her apprehension.
It’s not easy keeping up; he moves much faster than her, over fallen trees, exposed tree roots, through thick clusters of low branches.
She has to keep her eyes trained on the black of his jacket, which at times is just a sliver of shadow flitting through the trees.
Frustrated, she calls out to him a few times, but he doesn’t answer or look back.
She’s like Alice in Wonderland chasing after the rabbit. A thought moves through her mind like ticker tape: The boy I am chasing is not real. The faster and farther he goes, ignoring her calls to him, the angrier she gets.
Finally, he stops. The chase is over. He’s reached the rock face.
Stumbling, trying to catch her breath, Polly watches him slip inside. She’s too afraid to follow. Because of last time. She only sticks her head in the opening and calls out, “Gray?”
“In here,” he calls back
“Can you come out?” Several seconds pass and there’s no answer.
She stands up and looks out at the trees around her.
She expects one of those shadow figures to materialize out of the bark at any moment.
Does she go into the cave, and face whatever Gray is, whatever he is calling her into, or does she go home and live with the whispers?
As if he hears her thoughts, Gray calls out, “Polly. Please come inside so I can explain.”
A small fire is going in the cave, but Gray is nowhere in sight. “Gray, if you don’t come out, I’m leaving!” she yells. Truly fed up with this game of hide-and-seek.
“In here.” His voice comes from a far corner of the cave, where a tall, thin crack marks the rock face. She hadn’t noticed it before, but there’s another passage there.
Don’t, her sister whispers.
Polly knew it was coming. And knows what she needs to do.
“I love you so much, but I don’t think it’s really you.
I think it’s me, wishing I heard your voice.
I think it’s grief.” Polly takes a deep breath.
She can’t live like this anymore; she needs to know what Gray is. What her dad and nana have become.
The opening is tight. She has to turn sideways to get through it, and she worries she may get stuck, but after about five feet the passage opens up and she stumbles out into an open space.
This one is bigger and has two fires burning.
Polly turns in a circle, taking it in. There are strange markings on the walls in what looks like rust-colored paint.
Not words but symbols. The ceiling of the cave is so high up, the light doesn’t reach it.
“Gray?” she says again, this time with a quiver of fear.
“I’m right here, Polly.” He steps from shadows into the light.
The sight of him relieves something in her. She’s no longer alone in here. She walks toward him, and something crunches underfoot. Glancing down, she finds the ground littered with bones of all sizes, some as small as chicken bones, some much bigger.
“Oh my God! What the fuck is this place?” She slowly moves back to the crack she’s just emerged from.
Run.
Before she can turn and obey, a hand comes down hard on her shoulder. Even through her coat, she can feel the long, thin fingers digging into her flesh, and she can smell it—wet earth and sulfur.
She tries to pull free, but her body is frozen in place.
She can’t move any part of it. She tries to open her mouth to scream, but her lips are immovable, and no sound comes from her throat.
Her body struggles, but it’s all in her mind; she’s not moving a muscle.
Except her tear ducts. They’re working. Tears spring to her eyes and slide down her cheeks.
That iron grasp turns her so that she’s looking at Gray.
Gray crosses the cave to stand in front of her. He cups her face with both hands and wipes her tears away with his thumbs, which only makes them fall faster. “Please don’t cry, Polly. You’re not in any danger, I promise. In fact,” he says, with a smile, “everything is going to be better now.”