Savior

Perfection. That’s what I’ve grown up in. From the pristine, white church at the center of our village to the newly built colonial homes that fall around it. The crisscrossing dirt paths that connect our homes are a metaphor for the closeness within our town. Despite that, I cherish the intimacy of our little town for the few perks it provides. For instance, all I have to do is take the path adjacent to my yard, past the stone well, in order to get to Anne’s house. A two-minute walk, shorter if I run. In fact, I got there in less than a minute after I heard the screams two mornings ago.

 I was walking in the direction of my schoolhouse, along the dirt path marked with the footsteps belonging to any of the fifty other members of my little town. I was thinking about how I was definitely going to get in trouble later since I forgot to feed our goats like my father asked me to. I was always doing that, getting sidetracked. I have too many thoughts buzzing in my head, and something feels off lately. 

Once I got about halfway to school, I heard the most ear-piercing scream I’d ever heard come out of a woman’s mouth. I quickly flipped my head around and saw the classmates behind me do the same. The sound had surely come from the direction of Anne’s house. Without a second thought, I headed in that direction, the dirt from the path kicking up behind me. I always was the fastest out of my six siblings. My older brother Tom tried to keep up with me, but he never could. 

Panting, I made it to my best friend’s house, where her mother and father were clutching one another in their front yard. My hazel eyes shifted from the large, black door that was ajar to the family crumpled together on the lawn. After having her, Anne’s parents always wanted more children. I never asked why, but even fourteen years later, it was still just Anne. That’s why I was over there often. Her mom loved the company. 

John stepped out with a look of a mix between shock and disgust on his face. 

“Katherine, I think you should stay out here,” he said. 

Without any response, I pushed the blonde wisps of hair that fell from my braid out of my face and rushed past him into the house. I stepped through the doorway, past their small three-person dining table, where I stood in the archway of Anne’s room. Or I suppose it was her room. Now, the window we would look out of to spy on her weird neighbor is shattered and covers the floor. The small dresser full of all of her dresses is covered in scratch marks, peeling the baby blue paint she picked out herself. Her sheets are a mess of red, and I don’t even recognize her face anymore. I’ve helped my dad kill and defeather our family chickens, but this was a new vision of gore I would never be ready to bear witness to. I was stuck like that, just standing in horror until I felt my father’s hands grab my shoulders and lead me outside. 

Here I sit, two days later, in our town church amidst a room of tension and accusatory glances. Since Anne’s death two days ago, four more have happened. Two the same night as Anne and two more the next. Mr. and Mrs. Jameson’s twin boys were murdered the same night that Anne was. Now they sit in a pew. Mrs. Jameson’s normally perfect hair is in a disheveled bun, her eyes held up by the purple bags that show proof of her lack of sleep. The usually cheerful Mr. Jameson is sitting silently with his arm around his wife. He does his best to wipe away each tear that seeps from his caramel eyes and slips down his wrinkled face. But I notice each one. 

I tune back in just in time to see my father, our priest, trying to diffuse the situation. 

“There are no bears in the area, Emily, and a bear couldn’t have fit through poor Anne’s window,” John reasons. I pan over to Anne’s mother as she sniffles and tries to hide her emotions from the relentless argument. Everyone in the town is going back and forth on where the attacks could be coming from. But after two hours, no one has come to any conclusions. We leave the church feeling more defeated than we have in the past two days. 

????????????

I’m running, sprinting through the sea of tall pine trees that surround our village. My heart beats with urgency as if a chase is occurring, but I can’t tell exactly what I’m running to. Closer, closer I’m about to reach the edge of the tree line and….

I jolt awake and sit up to ground myself with my surroundings. The dirt coats my white nightgown like a… the dirt. I look down and realize I’m not in my bed but rather have made a bed among the moss and leaves. My feet look as if I have walked through a mud pile, but I cannot remember how I got here. 

Quickly, I place my hands underneath me and stand up. I spin in place, taking my time trying to get my bearings. Luckily, I remember the berm is to the East. Following the sun, I make the lonely trek back home. 

Since I was little, I have always wanted to be just like my three older brothers. Tom, Eric, and Henry would always be in the woods building swords and castles out of measly sticks. My younger sisters, on the other hand, would stay at home with mom learning how to sew new dresses. Feeble skills, in my opinion. I would follow my brothers into our world of medieval quests, and I relished in those times. Even though I always ended up having to be the dragon, my brothers were tasked with fighting me on their journey. 

Before leaving, my mother would always tell us that if we saw the sun starting to sink into the horizon, that would mean it was time to turn around and come home. And then she’d add in some embarrassing note about how my brothers need to protect me while we’re in the woods. 

I was finally met with the safety of home as I stepped through the line of tall pines. The plush grass still blanketed my steps as I rounded the corner of our two-story, russet colonial house. I prayed the red front door would refrain from creaking, and I would be able to soundly slink up the carpeted steps towards our washroom. 

I made it all of four steps before I heard my mother’s voice. 

“Katherine Selene Wilson, what are you doing coming in the front door at this hour?” My mother questioned from the dining room table as I visibly cringed. 

Defeated, I backed away from the stairs, instead walking through the hallway that housed our dining room doorway. How did she even know it was me? I’ll never understand that motherly intuition. 

“Hey, so about that. I absolutely forgot to feed Jimmy and Craig, so I was just doing that,” I replied with a smile that she knew all too well I made when I was lying. 

“Mhmm. So you went out to feed the goats… in your nightgown, with no shoes?” Mother asked, playing along with my fruitless white lie.

I nodded with the widest grin ever plastered onto my dirt-crusted face. 

“Right, well, go wash up. If your father sees you like that, he’ll have more questions than I do circling my head at the moment,” Mother said as she went back to the dress she was sewing for my youngest sister, Grace. 

Since turning nine, she has grown out of her clothes extremely quickly. I wish I was the youngest. Instead, I’m right smack in the middle of my mess of siblings. Every time I grow out of my clothing, there are always more hand-me-downs from Samantha’s old box of dresses in the basement. They smell all musty and are too pink for my liking. I much prefer stealing Tom or Eric’s old pants, much to my mother’s chagrin. 

“Ew Katherine, been rolling around in the dirt this early in the morning?” Samantha grimaced as I passed her on the staircase. 

In response, I stuck my tongue out at her perfect brunette braids and crystal blue eyes. The striking opposition to my dirty blonde hair. I turned from her without waiting to hear the insult I’m sure was balancing on the tip of her tongue. 

Finally, within the safety of my shared bedroom, I gathered up my clothes and headed towards the washroom. 

I returned downstairs to find the entirety of my chaotic family sharing breakfast. Plopping myself between Eric and Henry as I always do, I gathered up a pile of bacon and eggs. 

“You’re positively vile, like some rabid animal,” Samantha shot at me as I chewed through the glob of food I had packed in there. I opened my mouth so as my bacon and eggs were visible, earning a satisfying death glare in return. Evelyn and Grace giggled, just as my mother scolded me for behaving like a child. 

“The attacks are getting worse. John’s boy was killed just last night. I don’t want you kids out past dark anymore unless you’re with Tom or me. Understand?” My father broke the silence with that devastating news. We all nodded despite feeling frozen with worry. What a way to start a morning. I solemnly looked down at my hands, fingernails still dirty underneath.