The Shadow Anthology

Sophie

Spring time in South-East England was a beauteous visage to behold. The grass, though occasionally frosted, had almost completely thawed. Small animals escaped their homes and were scattered among the woodland areas, bringing the promise of summer ever nearer. The sun was beginning its ascent earlier every day. To most this was a blessing which brought neighbourly cheer to an ever-chipper town. Locals found their energies replenished by the oasis of the broadening sky; everyday toils grew easier with a bit of sun. Leaves furnished the trees and taught the flowerbeds to bloom. Children could be seen playing in the park again. All seemed well in most any town.
However, on the first Sunday of March, the small town of Glanshire was quite barren as all residents were gathered in a single place for a single purpose; this day was the funeral of Mayor Emily Layheart. The community was rather small and extraordinarily enclosed so all residents both knew and cared for one another well. Mayor Layheart had also been an impeccable benefactress, both to the town as a whole and her neighbours individually. All this meant that Emily wasn’t only well known, but well loved. The sermon began with sentiments and speeches, all of which blurred together in the ears of a certain resident.
“Emily Layheart was a wonderful woman to both those she knew and those she didn’t. She was mayor of our small town for decades and almost consistently ran unopposed. I think I speak for everyone here when I say that nobody cared as much for all of us and the town itself than she did. Emily devoted the best years of her life to progressing our humble hamlet. I hope I speak for us all when I say: Emily, thank you for your effort, time and friendship. You filled us with gratitude and love and left a mark on our community that will never be forgotten.”
Speeches were bequeathed by many different people throughout the day, both publicly and privately. Plaques were awarded, a statue commemorated, and tears shed. Most speakers were solely acquaintances as Emily was frequently thought to be a lonely woman outside of her home. She had neither a partner nor child to speak of and no family to call her own.
However, she always maintained one close friendship with a woman named Sophie Hayes. Sophie was also a solitary, elderly woman, save for her friend Emily. Her family were all gone. Like her friend, she had neither husband nor children and no longer wanted them either. Children were only ever a fantasy. Romance was for the young, as she would so often say. None of this meant either woman felt alone. They may have preferred diverging activities, but their friendship supported one another like a bedpost in the dark.
Sophie had expected the loss to come soon. Emily was unwell in her final weeks and knew the end was near, though wasn’t one to dwell on death and forbade her friend from doing so either. Sophie had learned to repress her most agonizing and fearful emotions as a child. For all her childish feelings to resurface after she had long since buried them was like a tsunami approaching a well. She was being forced forward into a mental breakdown by an unsubstantial enemy. She wouldn’t be able to endure this alone but had no alternate options.
Sophie grabbed her cane and stood up from her chair. Being in the front row, she was displayed for all to see. By now, Sophie Hayes was no complacent woman and she allowed herself to cry. She fractured the dam as a tear trickled to her cheek. Cracking the concrete and ripping at the rubble, she walked down the aisle, glancing back every step in the hope of seeing her friend. She set aside her shaking cane and stepped into the limousine, bidding it to carry her home.
Emily bequeathed half her wealth to the community, with strict instruction that it go towards the preservation and growth of all the natural beauty of Glanshire, which included the abundance of children. The remaining half was given to Sophie along with a letter. Upon reading it, the lawyer noted that there was only one necessary act required for her to obtain the money. Sophie laughed as she heard her friend read it to her.
“Well, I’m dead. Hopefully it was nice and all that. This should get to you after the funeral but if it’s before then stop reading! I didn’t tell anyone except whoever’s organising it, but I spiked the punch! I know you’re such a party-pooper that you probably left before the reception even started. Check your phone for photos, they should be hysterical! I love Marcy but I bet she brought a bit of booze with her, so at least check hers.”
“I know it’ll be hard without me, since it was pretty difficult with me, but you’ll be fine. I’ve signed you up to bingo on Thursdays and if you want a penny then you best get going!” Sophie rolled her eyes and smiled. “Now that I mention it, you best get your blasted eyes sorted or else you’ll wind up around a bloody tree! It’s Sunday today, or at least it should be, so don’t go skipping wine and fine night just because of me. All my love, Emily.” She sighed, remembering their tradition. Sunday nights were dedicated to downing bottles of burgundy wine and touring the local retirement home for eligible bachelors with sizeable wallets, solely for the thrill of the lioness prowl.
Sophie accepted the profit of the will, promising she would enact all responsibilities. In reality, she would be damned before she let any doctor point a laser at her eyes. The lady had little use for money however, as she was already in possession of sufficient wealth. This new fortune was enough to make her the wealthiest woman in Glanshire, though she was far from the royal heiress that the townspeople made her out to be.
The flood of grief for overcame her. The loneliness and boredom of a purposeless future drowned her in a sea of despair. She waited for the rest of the day to ache out and for the shawl of night to blanket the town. Sophie drifted off to her sanctuary and set her cane down at the door. The beige bannister brought her upstairs. Drained of all life, she refused to move more than necessary and so decided to claim the nearest bedroom as her own. The carpet tried to trip her, but she soon found herself nestled amongst the cushions.
Asleep in the bed she thought might become her mausoleum this night, Sophie wavered between dreamscapes. The bed was of the same essence as the rest of the house. It was clean, white and beige with safety rails coating it like wrapping paper. The mattress was softer than her pillows, while the sheet was firmer and therefore difficult to sleep on.
Sophie would often dream of her ancient amorous fantasies which both pleased and frustrated her. She could never forget them, and tonight was no different. That night she dreamed of travels around the world, both real and unreal. She dreamt of her journey through the Amazon as a girl, when Emily’s family had taken her under their wing. The skull of her Parisian lover was perched in her hands until it faded to ash. She danced with an angel and smiled in her sleep. Her last dream took her back to a travelling carnival where she was led to the soothsayer who leaned across the table, grabbed her by the arm, looked her in the eye and repeatedly chanted in her face.
“Wake!”
“Oh, do sod off!” She snapped back, causing the man before her to retake his arm. His eyes widened as he looked on at her in shock and disgust. “I'm getting tired of this; I'm eighty-five years...” she trailed of as she awoke in a daze. There was a chill in the room. No windows had been opened and the moonlight remained banished. She spoke quietly yet audibly, “I'm off then, can’t be bothered with this house anymore. Your mate can jog on, I’ve had about enough of him. You're free to join, but as long as you keep it quiet!” She chuckled to herself at her own joke.
Walking to the adjacent room, she got dressed and headed for the stairs, almost breaking her hip again for moving at such a speed. Clinging to the bannisters all the while, Sophie hopped down the stairs. She then headed towards the garden shed. After retrieving what she needed by blind touch she returned to the house, being careful to avoid the centre of the garden on her way back.
She remembered her walking stick as Emily had often chastised her for forgetting it. Her friend’s words corroded in her ears and reminded her why she had to leave. Opening the front door, she left the house, leaving it agape. Hearing no cars under the moon, she crossed the roads in a strut, illuminated by the dim glow of streetlamps. She moved as a tortoise determined to finish her race. After finally reaching the edge of Glanshire forest, she spoke out to the dark for the last time, knowing she would never return to hear an answer.
“Well, it's bloody cold isn't it?” She spoke over her shoulder. “Do you want a jacket, dearie?” She took off a layer and gestured it behind her. Receiving no answer, she persevered and passed the gate. The old lady and her cane persisted in their militarized march. Sophie came to a halt as the cane indicated her arrival at a familiar tree stump. This was a secluded place where Emily and Sophie used to spend much of their time as children. Sophie sat awhile, reliving her memories of the once fertile forest. She envisioned the splendid sparrows and beautiful bluebirds who sat beside her in her mind. She looked up for the nests or a fresh batch of chicks but gave up when she admitted they could never be hers.
“Ah well, best get on!” she concluded. She tried many times before successfully hooking the rope around the low hanging branch. Once she succeeded, Sophie raised herself onto the precarious tree stump and fashioned a noose out of the thick, distended string. Sophie donned it like a necklace, and the air became chill.
Sophie evoked a final sigh of relief and allowed herself to slip from the edge of the stump. As the pressure began to bulge around her neck, she felt something else touch her cheek. It was something cold. The shadow beside her dissipated. The forest was quiet once more. The branch was released and didn’t strain. The forest no longer felt her weight. Sophie Hayes was nowhere to be seen.