Page 8 of Like A Moth To A Flame

It wasn’t cold, not even close, but I shivered as I turned to the house, stepping up the groaning wooden stairs. I didn’t even notice anything was off until I reached out to open the old screen door.

Pinned to the rusty screen, a sheaf of paper fluttered in the breeze. I tore it off the door, ripping off the corner of the wrinkled paper. A silver hair clip had been stabbed through the paper and threaded through the wires, holding it in place. It was old, tarnished silver in the shape of a moth, its outstretched wings inlaid with silver and blue stones.

Were the stones real? Probably not. It was most likely cheap costume jewelry, but it was pretty nonetheless. I plucked it from the door, feeling the weight in my hands, and then slipped it down the front of my dress and into my bra.

Amelia liked to give me shit.

“It’s a bra, not a pocket!”

But she wasn’t here. I could do what I wanted.

I looked down at the letter, and the first thing I noticed was the handwriting. It was tight, spiky, and legible, leaning heavily to the right. It was written in heavy-handed black pen, and written quickly, judging by the random splotches of ink that bled through the page.

It was good to see you today.

You’ve grown so much that I almost didn’t recognize you.

Your eyes are so beautiful.

I hate to see you cry, Little Moth.

It was signed with a simple black heart, crossed out, as if as an afterthought.

What the fuck?

That was just a tiny bit creepy, but maybe I was overreacting. My dad had always said I was easily scared. Maybe it was just one of his cop buddies without proper social interaction skills. I folded it and shoved it into my purse, searching for the keys. I found them and plucked them out, but the door popped open before I’d even threaded them into the lock.

Nowthatwas weird. I may have been unsure about the porch light, but I knew for a fact that I locked this damn door.

Pushing it open, I stood in the doorway, listening to the house talk around me. I heard the creaking as it settled, and the wind moving through the trees. I could hear the crickets chirping in the fields, and cicadas buzzing in the distance. The lone, mourning hoot of an owl echoed in some faraway tree in a neighboring field.

I didn’t hear footsteps or voices.

There was no one here. I was alone.

My shoulders slumped and I sighed.

Alone.

Pushing the door closed, I made sure to lock it this time. Tossing my purse and keys down on the table near the door, I kicked my pumps down the hallway, and they settled against the wall in the shadows. My feet ached as I flattened them to the hardwood,screaming and complaining about a long day in heels. Reaching behind my back, I found the zipper and pulled it down, the metallic hiss whispering in my ear as it slid down my shoulders and slumped to the ground at my feet. Arms wrapped around my shoulders, I moved up the stairs and stopped, listening again.

Nothing.

Sighing, I turned and made my way to the guest bedroom, where Barrett had taken my suitcases last night.

Once upon a time, it had been my childhood bedroom. Without me here to need it, my dad had repainted it and made it into a guest bedroom. I could still see my old Barbie pink paint peeking through the white he’d used to cover it.

As far as I knew, it had gone unused since I left for college. That was fine by me. It was here now that I needed it.

Curling up beneath the sheets, I allowed myself to feel for the first time since I’d gotten the news. The tears poured out of me like water from a faucet, and I fell asleep sniffling, with the moth pin pressed against my chest.

3

I wanna capture your essence and keep it here forever, little one

Firefly

Icouldn’t believe it had been so long.

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