It was the same damn tree from her dreams.
Arlana walked up to the massive oak as if still dreaming, trying to recall something from vague shadows of her deepest memories. Somehow she knew this glade, this tree. She wiped the tears from her cheek as she looked back over her shoulder to see if the others followed. They had driven her here, through these woods, in her desperate attempt to escape the torment. A short cut, to get around Maggie Riley’s house, and her gang of bullies. Why couldn’t they just leave her alone?
She stepped up to the tree and tentatively stretched out a hand. She paused, almost afraid to touch the deeply chiseled bark.
Change will come when you open your eyes.
The phrase came to mind from nowhere. Her fingers hovered, less than an inch away from the tree, shaking. She closed her eyes, desperately trying to conjure up the muddled memories. She opened them again just as her fingers made contact. She let out a yelp when an electric spark arced from the tree, giving her a good jolt.
“Hey, freak!” She whirled round at the sound of Maggie’s voice. Arlana spotted her nemesis along the same path she had just come down. Through the bracken she could see Becka Day and Lisa Montgomery, Maggie’s main enforcers, were also there. Without a moment’s hesitation Arlana shifted her backpack and bolted in the opposite direction.
“Get her!” She heard Maggie’s order. Without looking back Arlana knew Lisa was hot on her trail. Lisa was on the track team. But this, at least, was Arlana’s gift – she flew like the wind. Even Lisa couldn’t catch her once she had a lead.
#
Arlana woke with a start, a loud crack still echoing in her ears. She rolled onto her side and gazed out the window, once again trying to pull memories up into consciousness. A sliver of a crescent moon hung low in the sky, blushing faint ocher – just as it had on that night.
She sat up and ran her fingers through her lanky hair. What night? Where did that come from?
She shifted to the edge of the bed, now unable to sleep. She was tired of being the outcast. She had no friends. Maggie made sure of that. Any new girl who seemed to even remotely warm up to her was pulled aside and given the low down. The hell of it was, Arlana didn’t even know what the low down was.
Sleep little child, don’t you cry
Change will come
When you open your eyes
Damn right, change was coming. She slipped out of bed and quickly dressed. She stuffed several pairs of underwear and socks, a couple of tees and an odd assortment of keepsakes into her backpack. She fished out the money she had stashed in the back of her desk drawer. It wouldn’t take her far. But she could take it no longer. They didn’t want her here. Fine.
She crept out the back door fully intending to make her way to Route D, to hitch her way south. If she never saw this town again it would be too soon. But the crescent moon, hanging over the woods, caught her eye.
Sleep little child, don’t you cry
Change will come
When you open your eyes
Desperate for answers, she turned toward the woods.
The underbrush along the path grabbed and grasped at her, as if trying to turn her away. She drove on, fighting her way through, taken by a strange determination. When at last she broke out into the glade an empty feeling enveloped her. The oak tree stood alone in the center of the glade, bathed in a sheen much brighter than the moonlight warranted. Arlana approached it slowly, but unafraid.
“Sleep little child,” she started in a singsong voice, “Don’t you cry.”
She began circling the tree, counterclockwise.
“Change will come, when you open your eyes.”
A shudder ran through the canopy.
“When you open your eyes, your mother won’t know.”
Visions of faces once known began to come back to her.
“The babe in the crib is hers no more.”
She completed the circle, closed her eyes, and faced the tree.
“Sleep little child, don’t you cry
Change will come
When you open your eyes.”
She opened her eyes. A loud crack thundered through the woods as a gaping fissure opened in the tree. Names of ancient friends, long left behind, came flooding back to her. Fianna. Ferghus. Nola. Morrigan. Her old lover, Tristan.
Arlana dropped the backpack where she stood. It was no longer needed. She was going home.
—
©2010 by J. M. Strother, all rights reserved.
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Interesting. When she feels she is an outsider, she really is an outsider. I was hoping Maggie would get her comeuppance. Maybe Maggie doesn’t belong there either? She does seem particularly evil for a young girl.
Barb Relyea
Well, Arlana has all the time in the world to get even. And Maggie might have a child some day…
~jon
Good morning Jon. Great (haunting) start to a fantasy adventure! I thought I was more in (traditional) Stephen King territory (I thought the tree was forewarning of an accident that would happen to Maggie et al.), so the ending threw me.
Nice fantasy start, and agree with Barb that Maggie was worthy of a larger role (boo hiss!).
Rich
Ah, yes, what would One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest be without Nurse Ratched? Gotta have those strong antagonists.
I did envision a different story, but the other one would be too long. This has a happier ending.
~jon
Very atmospheric with a nice twist -didn’t see that coming.
I’m glad you enjoyed it, Virginia.
~jon
The closing scene with the tree contrasts with the realismof the rest of the story well, emphasizing the fantastical at just the right time. Great stuff.
I was hoping the changeling aspect would not be too obvious. Sounds like I may have succeeded. I’m glad you liked it.
~jon
[...] This post was mentioned on Twitter by J. M. Strother, Dan Powell. Dan Powell said: RT @jmstro: My #fridayflash, Sleep Little Child, is up on Mad Utopia. Just a pleasant walk in the woods. Enjoy. http://bit.ly/4SKh8u [...]
“Arlana didn’t even know what the low down was” – astute, this. I suspect it’s the case with many a bullied child.
The closing scene makes me want to read more, of course, but I also loved the gentle creepiness of the … verse? incantation? as it is mentioned throughout.
Yeah, I think that is one of the worst things about being the class goat – you never know what others are saying about you, and imagining the worst. I added the full verse in a comment a bit further down, if you want to read it without interruption. I’m glad you liked it.
~jon
i want to know more – tell me tell me!
yes, very haunting.
I’m glad you liked it Michelle. The long version will just have to wait. Yes, I’m a big tease.
~jon
Another great story!
Thanks, Al. So glad you liked it.
~jon
The story I intended to write comes out very differently, but there was no way to write it in 1000 words or less. That will have to be a true short story. Here is the full verse, without narrative interruption, for anyone interested:
Sleep little child, don’t you cry
Change will come
When you open your eyes
When you open your eyes
Your mother won’t know
The babe in the crib
Is hers no more
Sleep little child, don’t you cry
Change will come
When you open your eyes
It was actually the hardest part of writing this – coming up with something that sounded timeless and haunting, yet not trite. I’m not sure I succeeded. As I said, this part was hard.
~jon
Very cool! Your juxtaposition with the tree at the end was spot on! I enjoyed the haunting little rhyme also. Thanks for sharing it in its entirety.
You’re welcome, and thank you for commenting. I am glad you enjoyed it, and the rhyme.
~jon
Deliciously haunting. Invoking the names of the Fae like that, I’m assuming she’s a changling? I’m glad she remembered and went home. This story has so many possibilities for additional ones! I’ve come to notice that trees evoke great passion in your writing, a touchstone for you.
Well, I is a forester by training. But I smartened up and got me a job that pays.
Still love trees though.
~jon
Wonderful! I love anything supernatural, pagan, Celtic, witchy, fantasy, fabley (is that a word?), and your story had it all, in spades.
what is it about humans and relationships with trees? this piece nicely illustrates how much life they exude and how mystical they are. one of my favorites of yours jon. very very nice.
I love the use of the tree, Jon. Have you ever looked up the etymology of the words “true” or “truth”? They derive from the ancient Indo-European word for “tree.” The word “Druid” is also rooted in trees, not surprisingly. So when your tree cracks open, the truth comes out. Deep, somehow universal stuff.
Check this line before the break. I think you left out a critical word that I’ve put in all caps: “Even Lisa could NOT catch her once she had a lead.”
Yes, this is a very haunting tale, which I enjoyed very much!
Heartbreaking, too. So many children growing up whose first definition of self is “outcast”.
I love trees…their beauty, their ancientness, their shade! Heh. So happy that the oak here helped not hurt.
A question: last sentence in 6th paragraph where you write that Arlana’s gift was running like the wind. Should it not say that Lisa could “not” catch Arlana once she had the lead?
I don’t think your verse is trite, I think it fits the story. Enjoyed.
Wow. Haunting, and while it has that etheral quality, it also feels very real. Loved it.
I didn’t see that coming. Nicely done!
I am reminded of Poe’s line, “All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.” Wonder what will happen when I open my eyes?
I agree with everyone else Jon, this is very haunting, and you know how much I love trees.
I think you did a great job with the rhyme, (I picture it as a mantra of sorts).
Fantastic work, as usual.
Haunting and touching. Love the rhyme and how works into the story. This is one of my favorites of yours. Fantastic.
A well-written, enjoyable, haunting story. The repetition of the rhyme and nice setting details like the woods add to this effect. Laurita says it’s ethereal and yes, I have to agree that’s an apt description.
Oh I love a good “doorway opened to another dimension” story. Well done. Lovely feel to this.
Funny how people forget that girls can be tormenters too. Glad she got to go home.
:0)
I’m with Barb. It’s a story, but it isn’t a STORY until Maggie gets brought to justice. Living in Ireland I may have an in-built resistance to silkies, sidhe and similar…
I liked the telling, I just wanted her to turn and fight.
Karen said – “Funny how people forget that girls can be tormentors too.”
There’s an alternative? You sure?
Another cool tree story from Jon the Tree Man (I’m doing sobriquets this week!). I wondered who she was leaving behind in running away/coming ‘home’.
Haunting and lovely.
Wow! It is a haunting tale, as everyone says–not just because of the subject matter, but because of the use of verse (not just the rhythm of the verse itself–and I didn’t find it or the words trite at all–but the use of verse to set a rhythm for the larger prose piece encompassing it). If you do work it into a larger piece, I’d love to read it!
This was quite pleasant to read Jon. Very possible a beginning to an epic fantasy.
A lilting lullaby and a twist. You’ve done it again Jon.
Jon,
That was a great tree story – I’m a tree person too. I think they are magical.
I think you HAD to have that verse/song in there – it made the story and added to the mystery and suspense.
I also thought at the end she might be connecting to previous lives.
Very well-written!
Haunting tale, Jon. You get better and better and better — like a fine red wine! Peace, Linda
Fantasy has never been a genre I’ve read, but after this, I’m not sure why. I love the intrigue, the endless possibilities unconfined by the natural world. The doors you’ve opened in this story are just begging to be filled with grand ballrooms of characters! Love it.
Nice start to a YA fantasy. I think I would have liked to see her overcome Maggie in the opening dream, maybe in a way that she doesn’t even understand. Maybe something that seems like coincidence. Well written and great story telling here.
Great twist at the end. I was expecting something much nastier to happen to her, but for her to be welcomed home is creepy enough.
Very cool story. I’m glad she finally found out where she belonged.
Really like some of the images, especially blushing faint ochre. Is this piece going to grow into something bigger?
Thanks, Deborah. My flash fiction is usually stand alone, though sometimes the characters do demand more attention. There are no expansion plans for this, unless I go back to my original ending and turn it into a short story. But I don’t foresee a novel.
~jon