I didn’t dare look behind me. I just ran and ran and ran for what felt like miles, although my old green VW Beetle was parked just a couple blocks away from my apartment building. I don’t think I’d ever tried to keep up such an ambitious pace in my entire life. For the first time, I considered if all I really needed to train for a half-marathon was the impending threat of being eaten alive by a red-headed demon with a superiority complex.
The moment I stumbled upon my car, I unlocked it and flung myself inside. The beat-up vehicle had been a gift from my grandparents when I turned eighteen. Despite being a little rusted underneath, it was trusty and reliable and very cool tolook at. Unfortunately, what it gained in points for style, it lost points in being unbelievably fucking slow. This, for the most part, hadn’t been an issue. I didn’t drive anywhere but the grocery store, and when I did, I chose to drive as slowly as humanly possible. I probably would have done the same in a nicer car, because driving, like most things, gave me anxiety.
I made sure the door was locked before I took a steadying breath. And then another. And a third, for good measure. When the additional oxygen did little to still my thumping heart, I let my head drop to the wheel.This is not real. This is not real. My life is not real and this simply cannot be happening.I pinched myself once. Hard.
Nothing. Still in my pyjamas in my car.
I tried again, this time pinching harder and twisting slightly, as if that might help me wake up. But I didn’t. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting. But this night had taken one too many unexpected turns, and given that anything was possible, apparently, it had been worth a shot.
I then considered the possibility that I was hallucinating or having a psychotic break. But other than my general anxiety, I was pretty lucky that I didn’t really struggle with any other mental health issues. But I knew, all too well, what it felt like to feel trapped in the confines of my own mind. I’d spent years polishing off my smile when I was drowning internally. To this day, I struggled to open up with even the people closest to me.But who is going to understand this?
Pulling out of the parking space, I questioned whether I should have been driving in the first place, but there had really only been two options available to me. Drive. Drive anywhere. Drive as far away as physically possible. Or go back to my apartment and facehim.
It was muscle memory that got me to my grandparents’ house. I had thought better of it, given my ungodly pest problem,but I figured with all his mysticism and power, if he wanted to find me, he probably could have. I pulled onto my grandparents’ drive, parking behind my grandfather’s station wagon before scrambling out of my car and staggering to the house I’d grown up in. I banged on the door, a little too forcefully for the time of morning, but with sufficient vigour, given my current circumstances.
My grandparents’ house sat on a quiet street, nestled right on the edge of Darling’s largest suburban neighbourhood. Picture white picket fences with freshly cut lawns. Porches with swings and well-trimmed rose bushes. Pastel-coloured houses and more birdbaths than birds. It was the type of neighbourhood that only existed in family films, the one briefly shown before the protagonist went off on some far-fetched adventure.
I looked over my shoulder, hoping Isaac’s father wasn’t off on another early business trip. I’m not sure how I would be able to explain the events that had previously led up to me standing here, scantily clad and frantic. I knocked again, and this time I could hear shuffling on the other side of the door. The door opened, and I was greeted by the same old smile my grandmother always seemed to wear.
She was short; she’d probably been taller than me at one point but had shrunk over the years. She was wearing a white shirt with a red cardigan over the top and a pair of black trousers. I looked down to find her in a pair of her own fluffy Birkenstocks, a lighter pair than mine. I’d bought them for her this past Christmas, given that her treatment had made her more susceptible to the cold.
My grandmother had short, wispy, stark white hair. Her eyes were still as blue as the day she was born, and she had the warmest disposition of anyone I’d ever met. This often made it incredibly difficult to tell when she was struggling and when she wasn’t. Or maybe, like me, she just felt the need to internalise it.
“Hey, Grams,” I said, putting on the cheeriest voice I could manage. One that sounded cheery enough that she wouldn’t question why I was so early but tempered enough to seem overly forced. “I’m sorry I’m so early,” I said, ignoring that I’d arrived before six am. “Grandpa mentioned that you were keen to get started on some spring gardening, but I had…uh…an assignment to do later, so I figured I’d come early.”
She offered up a small smile in response, cocking her head to the side, and purposefully ignoring the inappropriate gardening attire that I was wearing. She simply pulled me into a hug before ushering me from the hallway and into the kitchen. “You have nothing to apologise for, lovey. Have you had breakfast?”
I smiled, following after her like a lost puppy. My grandmother had and always would be a caretaker. I knew she’d been a wonderful mother and was an even better grandmother to me. I tried not to seem overly enthused by the idea of a proper meal. But my lack of fridge produce and the adrenaline from the last few hours had left me reeling and feeling utterly famished. “I’d never turn down breakfast with you, Grams. But let me cook,” I said as I trailed after her.
I needed to do something.Anything.Anything to distract me from the events of this morning. I still hadn’t quite rationalised that I had unwittingly summoned a demon. I took in the space around me, letting the memories of growing up in this kitchen pull me away from the thoughts of fiery red hair and even redder eyes. The room was a modest size but hadn’t been updated in years. Definitely not since I’d lived in the house, and by the look of the curtains, not in the years predating my arrival. The room was surrounded by dark wooden cabinets and a matching countertop. It had a rustic farmhouse feel. It was warm, cosy, and the way it was littered with trinkets and recipe books made it feel lived in.
There was a large window above the counter thatoverlooked the back garden. I’d spent many a time, particularly in summer, prepping lunches or dinners with my grandfather whilst Maura gardened away. Despite her current condition, the garden still looked well-kept. The grass was a vibrant green and pops of colour in form of winter jasmines and camellias adorned the entire space.
I put my phone and keys on the counter before instinctively moving to the sink. I don’t know what I was hoping for… To wash away my anxiety, perhaps? I washed my hands and face, patting myself off with a clean towel. “What are you in the mood for?” I asked, turning my attention to my grandmother, who had just picked up the kettle and was filling it up with water. The walls behind her were decorated with white and pink floral wallpaper. Wallpaper that you’d really only see in the newspaper, one where an unsuspecting family was being haunted by some evil entity. I’d always brushed that kind of thing off as utterly ridiculous.Walk a mile in their shoes, why don’t you?
“Tea?” she asked softly, and I nodded.
Part of me screamed to have her sit down and do it myself. Part of me felt guilty for letting her do anything for me at all. But Maura was an adult, capable of telling me when and if she needed help. She might have been ill, but my grandmother had spent her whole life not only doing things for herself but for other people, too. I might not have liked it, but the last thing I would do was make her feel fragile or incapable. I didn’t want her to feel like she was a burden on me or my grandfather. So, in quiet company, she continued to mull about the kitchen as I worked on breakfast.
“Do you want your bacon crispy?” I asked as I settled over the stove. She peeked an eye over my shoulder before smiling at me.
“Do you even have to ask?”
Maura had already moved on to putting a few slices of toast in the toaster when I noticed the cup of steaming hot tea next to me. Oat milk, one sugar.Perfect.
“So, how are you holding up, Grams?” I asked before scowling down at the frying pan. Several stray droplets of oil splashed up and hit me in the side of the arm as I turned down the heat. I hadn’t truly taken in my grandmother’s appearance, but I noticed how thin she had gotten as I looked at her. She was probably the thinnest I’d ever seen her. I chose to ignore the slight wheezing and shortness of breath I could hear as she continued to amble about the kitchen.
A few moments later, Maura placed several additional slices of untoasted bread on a plate next to me before settling into a chair at the dining table.She always asks for help when she needs it.I’d spent nights, many nights, in fact, staring up at my grandmother and the chair she now sat at, at the head of the table, begging and pleading for bed. Too many times, I’d found myself in a stalemate against a plate of broccoli or cold Brussels sprouts. To this day, I can’t walk down the vegetable aisle without feeling inexplicable rage.
“I’m alright, my love,” she said softly.
I strutted off into the living room for just a moment, grabbing a shall and placing it around her before plating up some buttery, scrambled eggs and bacon. My grandfather would be down soon enough, the smell of cooking likely to pull him from whatever dream he was having. Either that or he would insist that my grandmother shouldn’t be overexerting herself by making breakfast. I didn’t bother to question which it was, I knew his heart was bigger than his stomach.
I relaxed into the chair next to her, placing both plates on the table. Whether it was the adrenaline wearing off or the simple fact that I had survived the last twenty-four hours on a sad, little bowl ofFroot Loopsalone, I was famished. Not a singleword left my lips as I proceeded to inhale the food in front of me.
“So, what’s the plan for today?” I smiled up at my grandmother.
“Well, I wasn’t expecting you for some time,” she said, looking pleased, but traces of concern lingering at the edges of her mouth, nonetheless. She glanced up at the clock above the dining table, encompassed by a ring of vintage, decorative plates. “But if you are happy to start now, I wanted to clean the leaves off the lawn out front. And I have a variety of different seeds to get planted. Grandpa picked them up at the grocery store for me.”
