Page 7

When dinner ends, Karmela insists I go rest. As I climb the stairs, she bids me a gentle “Laku noć.” Good night. I repeat the phrase back.

The canopy around my bed flutters softly in the breeze, beckoning me within its lacy embrace. I’m so exhausted that I fall asleep within minutes.

The scent of lavender curls around me. Sunshine floods my vision as I walk through the field outside, combing my hand through the purple stalks. A woman strolls a few paces ahead, with long, dark hair and a red dress.

“Mom?” I call out.

The woman swivels slowly. My heart lurches at the familiar planes of my mom’s face, her smooth skin and full lips, even rosier than I remember. But something is wrong with her eyes—they’re gone, replaced by two black holes.

Suddenly, something dry and brittle clogs my throat. My hand flies to my mouth as I cough something out into the palm of my hand: a small mound of lavender buds. Their scent, cloying and sweet, overwhelms my senses. The hum of cicadas vibrates in my ears, rising into a deafening whir.

When I look up, my mom smiles, her mouth full of tiny, sharp teeth.

My attention is seized by something gripping my arm tight. A dark vine shoots up from the ground, and then another, coiling around my limbs. I struggle to break free, but they only tighten their hold, grating against my skin as they pull me down.

The vines yank harder, tugging me onto my back, while beneath me, the earth shifts, forcing my body into the ground. As I sink, cool dirt caves over me. I open my mouth to scream, but a spray of soil and lavender buds splatter over my face, muffling the sound. It’s so heavy, building higher and higher, pressing against my lungs, I can’t—

I wake with a heaving breath.

Squinting in the darkness, I try to make sense of my surroundings, the ethereal canopy floating around me. This isn’t my bed. And then I remember I’m not in my childhood home, where I’d been living since my mom passed. I’m on Tolba. In Kuća Lavanda.

A creak breaks the silence, as if someone has entered the room. A footstep, and then another. Maybe it’s Karmela coming to check on me, though I can’t make out much beyond the darkened veil.

I attempt to sit up, but nothing happens. My limbs are frozen, glued to the mattress.

What is happening? Am I still dreaming?

Panic darts through me as I try to move again. Still nothing. As I silently urge my body to respond, a shadow flies across the lace canopy. My eyes track its movement, coalescing at the foot of my bed.

The shape is tall and slender. Like a person. It edges closer and closer, growing larger with each groan of the floorboards. Frigid air wafts over me, raising goose bumps across my skin. I try to speak, but my lips stay clamped together; only a garbled whimper escapes.

This is only a dream.

The shadowy figure stops. Waits. All is quiet but for my frantic breathing and wild pulse.

A noise slowly rises, like a deep rattling intake of air. No human could make such an unnatural sound, as if their lungs have been parched for years, and they are only now tasting life. I shut my eyes, willing myself to wake up.

This is only a dream.

When I open them moments later, something glides through the parting of the canopy. It’s faint, not fully tangible, but I can still make out its silhouette against the lace.

A hand.

Terror slams into me like a deluge of ice water. I close my eyes again, my heart battering my ribs. Wake up, wake up, wake up.

I attempt to claw the sheets in my desperation, and to my relief, my left pinkie shifts, then more of my fingers follow, as if my body is slowly thawing. My right hand comes next. What feels like ages later, but must only be a few moments, I finally lift my arms. I bolt upright and open my eyes, ready to run from the figure at the foot of my bed.

But it’s gone. The canopy flutters innocently, devoid of any mysterious shadows. The temperature rises, no longer icy cold.

My body slackens with relief. What the hell just happened?

As I wait for my pulse to slow, a breeze drifts in from the balcony. I need fresh air—lots of it.

I crawl out of bed and open the doors wider, letting the cool air cascade over my clammy skin. Before me, the lavender bushes are soft and gray beneath the moonlight, like swaths of clouds floating along the landscape. I stroke my throat absentmindedly, still irked by my dream.

As I’m about to head back inside, a flicker of movement draws my eye.

A shadow flits among the lavender. Slinking down one of the rows like a plume of dark oil. I squint, trying to make out what it is, but as it rounds a tree, it disappears.