by Mark Eller
* * * *
Pre-dawn light through her parted bedroom curtains broke into Anithia’s troubled dreams. She rolled over, looking for the comfort of her husband, needing his embrace, but only found a cold and empty spot.
Ani struggled to sit up and looked to see if the clean clothes she had set out for Larson were gone. Maybe she had been sleeping when he came home and was still sleeping when he rose, but when she looked at the chair she had sat the clothes on they were still there, neat and untouched.
Maybe he had fallen asleep in the front room.
Tossing back her covers, Anithia swung her legs over the edge. She wanted to stay in bed and enjoy the early morning coolness, but worry kept her from doing so. What if Larson hadn’t come home? What if one of those demons had‒had‒Ani stopped herself, refusing to complete the thought. Her husband was fine. No matter what, he was fine.
But, of late, things had not felt fine, not for a long while. Strange goings on had left her feeling troubled and uneasy. Even their six-year-old daughter, Missa, acted ill at ease. The disturbing dreams her Missa had been having these past months were unnatural, even for a child. They seemed— touched. By whom or what, Ani didn’t know, and that scared her. When she mentioned the dreams to Larson he had shrugged them off as a child’s wild imagination.
As if the thought had summoned her, Missa burst through the door and flung herself into Ani’s arms, crying. Stomach clenched, Ani hugged her close.
“Momma, Momma, the lady took Daddy. She took him.” Missa’s wail grew high and hoarse. Her long, blond braids were almost out of their ribbons. Missa’s normally bright blue eyes looked puffy and tired.
“Shhh, baby. Calm down. What lady, little Miss?”
When Missa didn’t answer, Anithia rubbed her daughter’s back and held her until Missa’s sobs turned to whimpers.
“Missa?” Ani pulled her away. “Did someone come to the door this morning while I slept?” She hadn’t heard anyone knock.
Missa shook her head. “No, Momma. It was the pretty lady with the green eyes and long white hair.”
Anithia stilled. This was the lady from Missa’s dreams? “I don’t understand. How Missa? How did she take him?”
Shuddering, Missa straightened and rubbed her eyes on the back of her sleeping gown. “She took him in the light, to her garden. She said he had to come live with her.”
Releasing Missa, Anithia clutched at her chest and stomach and slid from the bed to her knees. “No. Stop it Missa. Stop it. It’s not okay to tell Mommy tales.”
“But—”
“No!” Ani took a deep breath and closed her eyes a moment. This was Missa’s dream. It was a dream. Nothing more. Missa was a six year old child who believed the sky held the ocean because it was blue. A child’s dream.
“Anithia, do not despair”
Ani tensed. Opening her eyes, she expected to see someone else in the room, but there was only Missa and herself.
Gazing into her daughter’s sweet, round face, Ani froze.
A voice, much like her Missa’s, but deeper and sounding further away, slipped from her angel’s mouth. “I forsake none who believeth in me. I will not forsake you or your daughter.”
Missa’s eyes swirled a misty blue so bright it seemed as if someone held the moon behind them. Peace and love radiated from her face. Ani began to shake. What witchery had come to her house?
“Tis no witchery, Ani, only a promise of light.”
Missa’s hand reached out and stroked her mother’s hair. Anithia tensed at the touch. The smell of flowers permeated the air. Warmth stole into her numb mind and body. Unbelieving, Ani watched with tear-blurred vision as the swirling light faded from Missa’s eyes. Her daughter blinked and looked sad again.
No. It could not be. Not her Larson.
Missa gave her a sad smile, just like Larson often did when he knew something was about to break Anithia’s heart.
Chest constricting, Ani fought back near blinding panic. Somehow, she knew she would never see her husband’s smile again. Swaying, she caught herself on the edge of her nightstand.
“Momma?” Missa’s normally soft, pale features were strained and serious.
No, Ani thought. Until I see his body, I will not believe he’s gone. I will not. She shook her head. “He’s not dead. He is not dead,” she whispered.
Anithia straightened and tried to stand. Again, she fell to her knees. A broken sob escaped her lips, and she clamped her hand to her mouth.
Missa reached out a soft, chubby hand and caressed Ani’s head. Stepping closer, she wrapped her arms around her mother.
“He’s gone, Momma. He’s gone.”
Anithia returned her daughter’s embrace and let the pain engulf her. Larson gone? Her bright and glorious husband? What were they going to do now?