Like the last bit I posted, this is raw and unedited, and probably bears only the faintest resemblance to what the final version will be like. Please save critique for December, since I’m still just trying to crank out 50,000 words between now and November 30th. (Although, the way this story is going, it’ll wind up taking closer to 200,000 to get the whole thing out. Sheesh!)

I feel obliged to give a small trigger warning; there is nothing graphically depicted except for the aftermath of nightmares. If you’re inclined to get triggered by that, then stop reading when they’re getting ready to go to sleep.

Gretel, part two:

This is the part I made sure not to talk about with Robin. It’s all so confusing, and keeps getting more messy the further I go. I know I’ll have to talk about it at some point, but I think I can keep it to myself until I’m a little more sure about what’s going on.

Gretel settled down, rummaging through my art supplies, and I went into the kitchen to think about something for breakfast. As I looked through what was in the kitchen, I couldn’t help wondering whether she was going to still be there when I was finished. I peeked around the doorway, and yup, there she was–Not my good pastels!

“Wait. NO! Gretel, you can’t mess with that!”

She stiffened. Her eyes were big and I saw a pout coming on. I took a deep breath. “Gretel, it’s fine with me if you color. I just would rather if you used something else, instead of those. Here, I should have gotten you the crayons and paper.”

I went to the shelves, and pulled out the box of ninety-six crayons. Then I pulled a stack of blank paper out of the printer. “You can use these. See, ninety-six colors. It will be plenty. Those ones you had, they’re special for me. I don’t like to share them very much.”

She was still holding onto the pastels, and didn’t look likely to let go. I dug inside, for the patience to deal with it. Come on, I told myself. You deal with little kids all the time. You can be patient with this imaginary little kid, too.

Right. Imaginary, but making a total mess of my art supplies.

“But I can be very careful,” she bargained.

I shook my head, and reminded myself to be patient. “No. I don’t want to share those. But you can use these crayons however you like. I bet you will enjoy them even more.”

A thought occurred to me: How did a fairy tale character even know about coloring? Oh, right. Because she’s a figment of my imagination, and I know plenty about coloring.

I reached over, and took the box of pastels from her. I managed to remember the body language that showed it wasn’t about a fight, it wasn’t worth a fight, because I was the grown-up, and I would win. Not because I was going to use any kind of force, just because I was in charge. Simple as that. If this kid is going to be in my house, I need to remember how to be enough of a grown-up to be in charge.

She glared at me, but I didn’t back down. “Okay,” she shrugged. And proceeded to dump the entire box–the entire BOX–of crayons on the table. I closed my eyes and bit my tongue. It wouldn’t hurt them. And if it did, I could always buy more crayons. Let her do that.

“Maybe I will just put the crayons in a better order,” she said. Something in her glance told me she knew perfectly well how hard it was for me to just let her dump out my carefully-arranged box of crayons. That made me smile. Almost.

I went back to the kitchen. “You can make me french toast for breakfast,” she said. “It is delicious AND nutritious.”

Definitely a figment of my imagination. Definitely not actually a fairy tale character. My imagination just glommed onto fairy tale characters because of that stupid Halloween party, and then talking about all of that stuff with Robin last week. I should be grateful I didn’t walk into the woods and find an ogre with no heart, right?

So, we had our breakfast of delicious, nutritious french toast, and then I had no idea what to do. It was too early to go to sleep, and I couldn’t think of anywhere I could go with Gretel that wouldn’t feel weird. I mean, even if she were invisible as she claimed, she would still talk to me, and presumably, expect me to talk to her.

That night, once again, I tried to figure out what to do with Gretel. She was still here. Would she still be here when I woke up? Mostly, I have to admit, I hoped she wouldn’t be. It’s not that she wasn’t kind of sweet, but she took so much time. I mean, this is why I didn’t want to have kids in the first place–real kids, kids that you could explain having, when people saw you with them…. I glared at her for a second, because she had been wrong that no one would see her. Maisie had definitely noticed her, and so did a few people around town. Plus, I might not have many issues about my weight, but there’s something embarrassing about going into an ice cream shop and ordering two ice cream cones when they can see perfectly well that you’re alone. Next time, I thought, take the car. And leave Gretel in it.

At least it was finally late enough to go to sleep. Wait… I am single, and I don’t have all that many guests. The number of guests who have slept over since I’ve moved in would add up to the fingers on neither of my hands. Candace is about the only person who would visit, but with the baby, if we want to get together, it’s only fair for me to drive up to see her.

But going to sleep would solve what to do with Gretel for the next seven or eight hours, minimum. How long do kids sleep, anyways? I never slept much that I can remember, but I think little kids sleep a lot. So. Seven hours of peace and quiet and not trying to figure out why a figment of my imagination seems to be making such a mess of my life.

Wait, though. Where can Gretel sleep? There’s the bed…

Okay. No. Creepy to sleep in the same bed, definitely. “Gretel, would you like me to make you a nice soft bed on the couch?”

“NO! I have to sleep in YOUR room. I have to be safe, and you did not make the living room safe for SLEEPING. You only just made it safe for AWAKE time. I might get DEAD or something if I sleep in the living room.”

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

“Can I bring the cushions from the couch, and make you a nice soft bed on the floor of my room?”

Gretel narrowed her eyes. “Why don’t YOU sleep on the floor? Maybe there are monsters on the floor and you hope they will eat me all up in tiny pieces and then you will throw the pieces away in the garbage and I will not be here any more.”

“There are no monsters in my room. Do you want me to make a special anti-monster spray and we can spray everywhere on the floor, and you can keep the spray with you all night long?”

Gretel looked at me, trying to figure out if I was serious. “But maybe your bed is comfortable, and the floor is lumpy. I am your visitor, so you should be very polite and give ME the bed.”

I closed my eyes. “Gretel. NO. The bed on the floor will be very comfortable. I will make sure it is. But I am the one who sleeps in my bed. Me. The person who bought the bed, the person who sleeps there every single night. It is my bed. Got that?”

“What will you put the monster spray in? Do you maybe have a big gun we can use?”

“No, I do not have a big gun.” I looked in the pantry, and yup, I still had the spray bottle that I used on the plants before I let them die of neglect.

I pulled that out, and I pulled out the little box that had my bottles of essential oils. Hm. Lavender is good for sleep, and… cinnamon, maybe. Tangerine oil smells nice. Oh, and sage. That will help make it better for killing monsters.

What? What on earth do I mean? I’m just making a spray. This is just for helping her calm down and go to sleep, right?

I shook my head. “Here, can you fill this most of the way with water?”

Gretel’s eyes were round. “You definitely are a magic person, right? Probably you are a fairy godmother. I always hoped I would get one of those.”

“I am not a fairy godmother. I am a very wicked witch, okay?”

Gretel narrowed her eyes again. “No, you are not. I know ALL about witches. You definitely are not a wicked witch.” But she went to the sink and filled the spray bottle. She brought it back, and I opened the bottle of lavender oil. I thought for a second, and decided Gretel would be more impressed by the spray if I made a ceremony of it. But she would be the one to do the stuff, since I don’t want yet another person–imaginary or not–thinking I’m a fairy godmother.

I handed her the bottle of lavender, and said, “Sprinkle in ten drops of this, and say Monsters are not allowed.”

She did.

“Now, sprinkle in five drops of this, and say I will be safe all night long,” I said, handing her the cinnamon, and thinking quickly.

“Okay, sprinkle in ten drops of this and, um, imagine monsters getting burned with every drop that touches them.”

Gretel counted the drops, and then screwed her face up, imagining.

“Now, repeat after me, one drop for each word.” Gretel took the sage, and watched me. “Monsters” drop “are” drop “NOT” drop “ALLOWED” drop. I put away the oils, and screwed the top onto the spray bottle.

“Okay. Why don’t you go into my room, and check under the bed and in the closets, and anywhere else you think there might be monsters in there. I’ll get the cushions from the couch and set up your bed.”

Monsters. I have a figment of my imagination crawling around on my bedroom floor, looking for monsters. I am pulling the cushions off the couch for the benefit of a figment of my imagination. I’d better not tell anyone about this, since I know I’d get locked up in a padded room.

CRASH!

I dropped the cushions and ran into my room. Gretel was standing by the window, her face round and terrified. The curtains and curtain rod were tangled halfway between their usual place and the floor.

“What–”

Gretel’s hands were up, protecting her head in a way that made my heart pound.

“So, I bet you were looking behind the curtains for monsters, right?” I made my voice as cheerful as I could.

Small nod from Gretel.

“And that curtain rod isn’t up there very securely, is it?”

Shake of the head.

“So it fell down on accident, and it wasn’t really your fault. And we can fix it. Nothing even got broken, did it?”

Guilty look from Gretel, as her arms came slightly looser.

I went to untangle the curtains and the curtain rod. I gently moved Gretel to the side, dumped my half-clean clothes off the chair where I drop them while I decide whether they can stand to be worn again, and climbed up to replace the curtains.

“See, everything’s fine. No harm done.”

Gretel shook her head, then looked away.

“What is it?”

“You do not have to pretend to be nice. I was BAD. I was VERY bad. Probably you should throw me away in the garbage even before those monsters come to chomp me into little pieces.”

“How were you bad? It was an accident. I told you to come look for monsters, and you were making sure to look everywhere.”

“But…” She tightened her lips. Her arms folded tightly over her ribs. She glared at me, like there was something absolutely obvious that I was missing.

I thought. “Okay,” I said. “You were bad to do exactly what I told you to do. You punishment is you will sit on that chair for enough time for me to go get the cushions for your bed on the floor. Then you will help me check the rest of the room for monsters. How is that?”

Gretel looked suspiciously at me as she slowly backed towards the chair. She scooted up onto it, crossed her ankles, and folded her hands.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Why is this so hard? Why can’t I imagine her to be easier, if I’m going to imagine her at all?

Gretel seemed surprised when I came back in with the cushions. I watched her out of the corner of my eye as I arranged them on the floor. A strange thought came into my head… she’s checking to make sure that I don’t have anything but the cushions with me. I shuddered a little, remembering… No. Don’t go there. Block it out.

We both took a deep breath when I had the cushions arranged into what would hopefully make a comfortable nest. For Gretel. It was altogether too short for me.

“Now it’s time to check the room for monsters. I need you to show me where else to look, since you already did a pretty good job, I bet.” Still fighting to make my voice light, even, calm. Not shaking with terror that made no sense.

She pointed at the closet. I picked up the bottle of “monster spray” from the floor, where it had dropped when the curtains fell. I opened the closet door, and turned on the closet light. I sprayed the floor, I turned over all of the shoes and sprayed them. I sprayed all of the clothes. I was about to close the door when Gretel whispered, “You forgot the shelf.”

Oh, right. I rolled my eyes as I assessed the shelf. I spritzed a few drops upwards, and mentally crossed my fingers.

I glanced at Gretel. I could see the fight going on inside of her: Does she continue being good, in the hope that I won’t suddenly explode, or does she insist that I be thorough in my search for imaginary monsters?

Being good won out. She nodded meekly, and climbed off of the chair.

I opened the trunk where I keep extra linens, and pulled out sheets and a comforter. Gretel silently helped me spread them over the cushions, and meekly accepted a pillow from my bed. She stood beside the cushions, rubbing one bare foot against a still-grubby ankle. Somehow, over the course of the day, I’d forgotten about what she was wearing–she was still in the ragged dress I’d found her in.

Clothes. I thought for a second. “Would you like something to sleep in? Something clean and comfortable?”

Gretel’s shoulders tensed, then she nodded. I pulled a t-shirt out of the drawer and handed it to her. “Okay, why don’t you go into the bathroom and change into that? Wait. I’ll go in with you, and find a toothbrush and some toothpaste. Then you can get ready for bed.”

I still wasn’t sure how old Gretel was, but she seemed self-sufficient enough that I thought I could probably let her do that on her own.

I listened to the water running, some splashing, and then the rustling of clothes coming off and being put on. “Do you need to go to the bathroom?” I called through the door. The last thing I need is imaginary pee all over my couch cushions.

Once Gretel was done, I led her into my room and tucked her into her nest on the floor. Then I felt a little guilty, just putting her down there alone. “Would you like to choose a stuffed animal or doll to sleep with? Just for tonight, not forever. But they are very friendly, and I’m sure one of them would be happy to sleep with you tonight.”

Gretel scrambled up and walked over to my bookcase. She almost reached for the bear, then pulled her hand back. She considered again. Her hand moved towards the pony, then the hippo… Oh, great. Why didn’t I just hand her one? Little kids take forever to decide things like this. Finally, she pointed at the large bunny rabbit at the back, and looked at me. I reached over her head and pulled it out, careful not to knock the other toys off the shelf. I tucked her back into the cushions, and watched as she snuggled close with the rabbit. Then I grabbed a nightgown and went into the bathroom to get ready for bed myself.

I was about to turn off the light when I remembered that some little kids are afraid of the dark. “Do you need a night light?” She looked at me blankly. “A small light, not very bright. Just in case you are afraid of the dark.”

“No. I am not afraid of the dark. I only am afraid of what is in the dark. You can turn off the light.”

I turned off the light with relief. I can sleep with a little light, now, but I’d rather have the room as dark as possible.

It had taken me a long time to actually relax enough to fall asleep. And when I finally fell asleep, I fell directly into a thorny tangle of nightmares. Right as I was about to be grabbed, I heard a scream, and sat up, heart pounding.

“NO! NO! Please don’t! I’ll be good! I promise! I’m sorry, I’ll be good!!”

Gretel. Still here, and obviously sleeping no better than I was.

I turned on the light, and said, “Gretel. Gretel. Wake up. It’s only a dream.” I climbed out of bed and sat near her, making sure not to touch her.

She sat up, saw me, and started pounding me as hard as she could with her fists. “It’s YOUR fault,” she sobbed. “YOURS! You did NOT check for monsters. You were NOT careful. I almost got eaten up in TINY pieces. You put me on the FLOOR so the monsters would get me FIRST. You ARE a wicked witch just like you said! I wish I never came to this place. I wish it ONE HUNDRED!!!!”

I finally got hold of her hands, and held them still as gently as I could.

“Your house is all FULL of monsters. You only came to get me so they would eat ME instead of YOU. You are SO SO SO SO BAD!!!! ” Gretel pulled her hands back and collapsed into a shivering, sobbing ball.

I pressed my face into my hands, and rubbed. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. It wasn’t helping, much. Nightmare. She’s little. She doesn’t know that I was having a nightmare too. Probably the same one, or something pretty similar. I shook my head, wishing I could shake free the tangle of dreams.

I went into the kitchen, filled two cups with water, and put them in the microwave. Then I reached to the back of the cupboard, and pulled out my special sleep tea, the one I learned to make for the nights when my internal monsters won’t let me relax. If I put in a bit of honey, Gretel would probably be willing to drink it as well.

I went back into the room, and sat next to Gretel, still careful not to touch her. I knew from experience that being touched would make it seem like the nightmare had become reality. “Here. Drink this. It helps. It really does.”

She turned over and sat up, silently looking at the mug. I nodded. She took a careful sip, and then another. I did the same. We both breathed a little deeper.

“I’m sorry,” I said. She looked at me. “I wasn’t careful about that shelf. And I bet there were a few other places that still needed to be checked, but you were scared to tell me.” She nodded. “I knew you were afraid of monsters, but I was in a hurry to get to bed. I didn’t do a good job of keeping you safe. So I’m sorry about that.”

I debated about whether to explain that the monsters were inside us, not the house. That the monsters we were afraid of were nothing but memories. Not tonight, I thought. Old as I am, I can barely believe the monsters aren’t real right now. Gretel won’t believe it at all. Monsters make more sense than… No. Do not go there. Keep it back.

We drank more tea. I breathed slowly, loudly, calmly. Sure enough, Gretel slowed her own breathing to match mine. We relaxed, after a fashion. Gretel finished her tea, put the mug on the floor, and shyly reached to wipe a tear from the corner of my eye.

“I’m sorry, too,” she whispered. I looked at her. “It actually was a teeny tiny bit my fault about the curtain. I thought maybe if I moved it super fast, then I would catch that monster and throw it out the window. But there was actually no monster, just a big mess.”

“That’s okay. It was smart, to think of throwing the monster out the window. I don’t think I would have been smart enough to think of that.” Gretel watched me for several seconds, then heaved a deep sigh.

“You can sleep in my bed, just for the rest of the night. We’ll make sure tomorrow that there isn’t a way for monsters to get you on the floor.” That is, if she’s still here tomorrow, I thought to myself.

“I don’t think I can go asleep,” Gretel mumbled as she picked up the rabbit and climbed into the bed. I noticed that she claimed the spot closest to the wall, to make sure that if any monsters did come, I would be the first one they got.

I pulled the battered book of fairy tales from the shelf on my nightstand. “I’ll read to you until you get sleepy, okay?”

The next morning, I woke to unexpected November sunshine. Saturday. Finally. But Gretel was still there. I climbed quietly out of bed, trying not to wake her. I unplugged my cell phone, and tiptoed out, closing the door softly behind me. I went into the kitchen, and called Tavi. His wife is on bed rest with a bad pregnancy, and he made sure everyone at the store knows he needs any extra shift he can get. He was happy to take my Saturday and Sunday shifts. Good. That was taken care of. I’d figure out what to do with Gretel, one way or another, by Monday morning.

I went downstairs to get the paper. Nathan was coming out of his apartment as I came back in. “Are you all right?”

I’ve lived here six months, and I think this is the first time he’s asked a personal question.

I shrugged. “I’m fine. Having some trouble sleeping, but that happens.”

“It’s just…” he paused, thinking. Finally, he said, “I just thought I heard some yelling last night, and…”

I didn’t know why my heart was pounding so hard. He wasn’t in my way, but I felt trapped. It felt awkward to just walk away, so I stood there, forced myself to stay for an uncomfortable conversation.

“I’m fine, really. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.” My voice was stiff, tense. I felt guilty, just like when I was little and the neighbors complained… No. Don’t GO there. Block it out.

“You didn’t disturb me, you’re just usually so quiet, I wondered…” he stepped towards me, reaching out a hand.

The next thing I knew, I was at the gas station where I usually stop to stretch my bad leg, when I’m driving up to Portland. I closed my eyes. Damn. DAMN. It’s been so long, I thought this wouldn’t happen any more. I probed for the memory, and, as usual… nothing. Not a thing. The last, who knows how long, all blank. My knee was throbbing a little, just as though I’d driven for an hour. Which, if I was here, I probably had.

I glanced, and found the car, neatly parked in front of the little convenience store. I limped over, to try to figure out what was going on. Gretel was perched on the front passenger seat, holding a bag of groceries.

“So, where are we going?” I asked her. “And what day is it?” If she’s a figment of my imagination, I don’t have to try to pretend everything is normal. When there is a figment of your imagination sitting in your car, you can be open with them about the fact that you have no earthly idea of what happened, or where you are. Scratch that. I know where I am, thank heaven. I just don’t know when, or why. Or how, come to think of it.

She grinned at me. “We’re on our way to the mountain.”

I blinked. And blinked again. “Why, exactly, are we going to the mountain?”

She rolled her eyes. “I told you, when it was time to get in the car. We are going to the mountain, because that’s where Jimmy is now, and you need to get him. If you don’t get him, probably he will get eaten up into little pieces. He can’t run forever, you know.”

Feel free to comment, but if it’s an editing type comment, save that for December, because my goal for the next 18 days is to just churn out text until I’ve got at least 50,000 words. I’ll share parts of the novel this month, when I get things that hang together well enough to show up in the finished version, in some shape or form.

I’ll put the start of the excerpt on the main page, and then you can click the “read more” button to read the rest.

So, without further ado….

excerpt from Fairy Gifts:

it must have been a dream, even though i am pretty certain i was awake. here’s how i remember it: i came home, went inside to check the mail, and something caught my notice outside. i put down my bag, and went back outside. there was a stone. no, there was a trail of stones. for some reason, i followed it. it went around back, and then into my garden.

i kept following it, not sure why. at some point, i realized that i had gone out of my garden, and into somewhere totally strange. normally, there’s not a gate at the back of my garden, but this time there was. normally, what’s behind my garden is mark and josie’s back yard, but this time, it was a dim forest. why did i keep walking? i couldn’t say.

but i did.

i followed the stones, and the forest kept growing around me. it started to get dark, and i heard strange rustling sounds around me. i looked back, and it was like the stones were glowing. i walked a little further, getting more nervous with each step. finally, i chickened out, and went back home.

“why did you chicken out?” asked robin.

“wouldn’t you have?” i asked right back. “i mean, strange path, dark forest, weird sounds. any normal person would back out at that point, right?”

she just gave me that therapist look, the one that says, “this is your story. tell as much of it as you want to tell.”

“okay, so there is more. this was on thursday night. i didn’t have work on friday, and when i went out of the house in the morning, the stones were still there. but it was earlier this time, so i decided to follow them again.”

nod. nothing more. so i continued.

it was morning. so i figured that it wouldn’t get so dark, at least not so quickly. i figured that any of the sounds, i could handle them, so long as it was daylight. i followed the stones, and once again, they led through my garden, and into a dim forest. i kept walking. at least i had the sense to leave the stones where they were. i mean, if you’re going to follow a weird path, it might be a good idea to make sure you’ve got a way back out.

i don’t know exactly what i expected to find at the end of it. i know i was surprised by what i did find. it was a cottage, an absolute, true-to-life, fairy tale cottage. thatched roof and all.

i looked back at the path of stones, just to keep some kind of grip on reality, and when i turned back, it had turned into a small victorian house, all done over with gingerbread, painted in half a dozen different colors, like those houses downtown, where people are all impressed with the history of it all. but when i blinked, i could still see the fairy tale cottage, too, almost superimposed over it.

then i realized that the stones went around to the back of the cottage. and for whatever strange reason, i followed them. why strange? that house was totally creeping me out. there’s no good reason for it, neither of the houses looked that scary, but they were both setting off some kind of alarm bell in my head. but i followed the stones anyways.

and around back, there was the reason i was so creeped out. there was a cage, with a skeleton in it. not a halloween skeleton, like you’d think of for a decoration. it was curled up, and somehow, it looked absolutely pitiful. i started to follow the stones back, quietly, quickly. and then i heard a whisper. i couldn’t quite make it out.

“nora… nora…” i kept walking. it was just altogether too creepy. “please, nora, can’t you hear me?” i slowed, but kept walking. my heart was pounding. what was this place?

“nora, please listen to me. don’t leave me here.”

i walked back to the forest, sat down beside my trail of stones, took a deep breath. i didn’t hear the whisper any more. but i remembered it. “nora, please listen, please don’t leave me, nora, please hear me….”

i took a deep breath. i took another deep breath. i reminded myself that this had to be a dream. there was no way this couldn’t be a dream. in real life, you don’t follow a path of stones from your perfectly ordinary yard and wind up in some strange fairy tale forest. things like that don’t happen. another deep breath. and another one.

i followed the path of stones, back past that flickering cottage, around behind, past the cage with the pitiful skeleton.

“nora! you listened! please help me!”

“who are you?” i asked.

silence.

“where are you?” i asked.

silence.

“how can i help you?” i asked, “i don’t know what to do.”

finally an answer. “open the door. please, just open the door.”

my heart was pounding. if they kept caged skeletons in the yard, how much more might they keep inside that house? but the voice didn’t sound dangerous. it made my heart pound, but it didn’t sound dangerous.

besides, i reminded myself, this is a dream. anyone can be brave in a dream.

so i walked to the door…

“no, the cellar door.”

i stepped back. i looked to the side, and there was actually a cellar door. the house had decided to stick with the victorian version, and the cellar door was the kind i always imagined when i heard that kids’ song, “say, say, oh playmate.” with that, slightly more cheerful, thought in my head, i bent down and lifted the door.

and the owner of the voice climbed up, blinking in the dim light of that forest. “oh, nora, thank you. i knew you would come someday.”

“you knew…” i blinked. “who are you?”

i looked at her. for someone who had been locked in a cellar, she wasn’t as grimy as i would have expected. her clothes were patched… all of a sudden, i remembered who she looked like. she looked exactly like the illustration of gretel in one of my fairy tale books from when i was little, from the ragged kerchief on her head to the smudges of dirt on her bare feet. except… her hair was brown, not the pale blond of the storybook girl.

“of course you know me,” she said. “now let’s follow the stones and go home.”

she took my hand, and started down the path.

“but who are you?” i felt like i should know her, but there is no reason you would expect to know an illustration come to life. she didn’t answer. she just kept walking, and i followed, not quite sure of what else to do. she knew where she was going.

well, of course she would. she was following the path of stones.

“who was that in the cage?”

she shrugged. “i don’t know. it was there when i got there.”

“how did you get there?”

she paused. she looked frightened. “don’t send me back. i can’t say how i got there, but it was better there than… well, it was better. but now you’re here, nora, and you can take me home.”

and she kept walking.

“where did the stones come from?”

“oh, those.” she looked at them, picked one up, rolled it around in her hand. she smiled an odd little half-smile, and put it back down. “i dreamed those, from the story. i thought maybe if the stones were there, you could find me, and you did. i did it JUST right, even though i wasn’t so sure about the magic. pretty neat, huh?”

the more we walked, the less she sounded like a fairy tale character, and the more she sounded like a little kid.

all of a sudden, near the edge of the forest, where it led back into my garden, i stopped cold. what on earth was i doing? how was i going to explain to anyone how all of a sudden, i had gotten this small child? how old was she, anyways?

she tugged on my hand, but then paused, as i looked down at her.

“how old are you?”

she looked frightened, then shrugged.

“look, i need something to call you. i need some way of explaining who you are. in the world where i live, people don’t just show up with little kids. little kids have a place they belong, and grown ups get in trouble if they mess that up. do you understand?”

“oh, that.” she laughed. “that won’t be a problem. no one else will be able to see me. i promise. now can we go home?”

as though that were the least of my worries.

“where do you come from, before there? you’re not just some illustration come to life. you must have come from somewhere.”

the girl let go of my hand for the first time since we had started down the path. she folded her arms across her chest, stubbornly, and said, “it doesn’t matter where i came from! i promise, no one is looking for me. i just have nowhere to go except back in that cellar. are you a mean person who will send me back in that CELLAR?! why did i bother with those stones if you are so mean of a person?”

“i promise i won’t send you back in the cellar, okay? i just need to know something more about you. maybe you could tell me a name i can call you, even if it’s not your name. that would be a start, right?”

she glared for a while longer, but her shoulders slowly relaxed. “okay. i will tell you a name you can call me. you can call me gretel. don’t i look just like that picture?”

“okay… gretel.”

“good! now, let’s go home.” she took my hand again, and began to pull me towards the house. we went upstairs, and she made a beeline for my art supplies. “now i will color for a while and you can make some breakfast, okay? i am very hungry.” she grinned, in a way that almost kept me from resenting having a small child taking over my apartment and messing with my art supplies. almost.

I am unlearning those lessons, and hopefully beginning to be the kind of person who is able to remember my past, and to speak about it. But it’s a long journey from here to there. People have told me the story is rather upsetting, so be careful as you read it. I don’t describe anything in detail, but apparently, quite a bit comes through anyways.

=================
I have learned my lessons well:
Good girls don’t remember.
What they remember, they don’t tell.

It’s hard to forget things. Especially when you’re only supposed to forget some things.

“I thought I told you to fold the laundry.”

“I forgot.” My voice is small. I make myself as numb as possible, so I won’t try to protect myself. That only makes them angrier.

Chores sometimes get mixed with the things I’m supposed to forget. “Don’t tell your mother I was in here.” “Don’t let your teachers know.” “Don’t remember what I did when you were five… when you were three… when you were eight….”

Don’t remember. Don’t remember.

It’s a more important rule than don’t feel, don’t need, don’t tell.

How can I help it if the forgetting leaks out?

It’s easier this way. I cannot let them know at school what happens at home. Nothing here is bad enough for us to be taken away, and when social services did come, after… I don’t remember.

But I remember not to tell.

There are lots of ways of telling. Drawing pictures is telling, unless you’re careful to draw happy pictures, with smiling suns. Forgetting your homework is telling, fighting is telling, crying is telling… I practice being good very hard, because everything else is telling.

I become the perfect student. My teachers love me. They say how proud my parents must be. I don’t say that no matter how smart I am, nothing will make them proud of me. I’m too horrible, and I keep on remembering.

I learn that a lie can be just as good as forgetting what I can’t erase. My mother is drunk and remorseful. “I still feel guilty for when you were five and I beat you for half an hour because you lied to me.”

“I don’t remember that,” I lie.

But I do remember. I found a quarter. I remember the glint of metal between the seats of the car, fishing it out from between them. She insisted I had stolen it. I insisted I hadn’t.

I remember her rage. I see the wooden spoon. I remember her eyes, and the smoke floating up from the cigarette. “I’ll teach you to lie!” My heart pounds until… I can’t remember.

But I learned my lesson: No matter how innocent I am, it is better to accept the punishment.

I only lie when I must. “Yes, I did it.” “It’s my fault.” “I don’t remember.”

I make my mind large, to encompass the forgetting. I skirt carefully around the places I must not travel, relaxing only in the safe grounds of classrooms and story books.

I lock the memories behind thick walls. When I was ten and took too long coming home. When I was three and wouldn’t eat enough dinner. When I broke the dinner plates. The memories loom, threatening until… I don’t remember.

I have learned my lessons well.
Good girls don’t remember.
What they remember, they don’t tell.

======================

One thing that surprises me as I read this is how much it reflects my experience this past year and more, dealing with DID. I didn’t know, when I wrote it, that I was multiple. And yet, I can hear different parts sharing pieces of their stories, and I can see how the younger parts helped to shape the words as they were written. And something about lines like “I make my mind large, to encompass the forgetting” seems to foreshadow my own experience. I am often bemused when my life seems to become a literary work.