Page 37 of Mischief Maker
By the end of the day, I’m struggling to remember how I got here. Why did I die in the first place? Am I really dead? Perhaps the last few years were simply an awful dream, and this is reality as it should have been.
But there’s a tickle in the back of my mind that I’m missing something.
“Mother,” I ask after dinner. “Once you told me a story about the lord in the forest, who will do one hundred tasks for those who ask.”
She glances over while she makes a pastry. Perhaps it will be blackberry pie.
“Yes, of course!” She winks. “I have heard he’s quite beautiful. Skin like stone, bearing the horns of a ram and those of a goat, with the face of a god. But he is also a trickster. The tales all say he will try however he can to misunderstand your requests.”
“What was his name?” I ask. This is important. I know it is.
She rubs her chin. “I believe it was... Kireth.”
Yes, of course. Kireth. Surely I couldn’t forget.
“What of him?” Mother asks.
“Once you taught me the words to summon him.”
She cocks her head. “Yes. But that is a legend, honey.”
I know they were in a little book we kept. I go to the bookshelf and search for it, but I don’t recognize any of the books. Their spines are blank, and when I pull them out, so are the covers. Inside, the pages are new and unmarked.
“This is wrong,” I murmur to myself, replacing the book on the shelf. This house... it is not my house.
“What is it, honey?” Mother calls out. She’s patting the dough into a ball and fetching her rolling pin.
“Nothing,” I say, and return to the table. That bright, bright sunlight is still outside, never relenting. I feel unsettled after the blank books.
“Mother? Do you know where we are?”
Pausing, she turns to look at me. “What do you mean? We’re at home, on the farm.”
I point out the window. “How come the sun never sets?”
This time, she frowns. “Well, it’s daytime now, honey.”
Is she being obtuse on purpose? Or does she not know?
“But it was up last night when we went to bed,” I say, trying to sound reasonable.
“Well, that’s silly.” She pulls out a dish and carefully carries the dough over to it, laying it across the bottom. “The sun doesn’t shine at night.”
“I know.” I’m starting to feel impatient. “That’s why it struck me as odd.”
My mother fills the pie, but the berries are the wrong color. “Nothing seemed unusual to me.”
“Mother,” I finally ask. “Are you real? Are you dead, too?”
She spins around. “What? Honey, what sort of questions are these?” She sits down on the chair next to mine and puts one arm around my shoulders. “We are very well and alive, you and me. Look.” She stares into my eyes, and I see my own hazel reflected back at me. “We’re both here, together. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Aren’t you happy?”
But something in her gaze feels off. Flat. This isn’t my real mother.
No, I’m here for a different reason, I know it. Something is pulling me away from this house, from this strange woman who looks and sounds so familiar.
“Tell me the words again,” I say to her, knowing this is important. “The words to summon Kireth.”
She frowns at me. “Now why would I do that? We don’t need him. We can handle the farm on our own.”
