Judith Goodhope || Mother's House of Horrors

Night

The sun sank quicker than Judith expected.  She itched to get out into the town, to start asking questions, find someone who knew something. She dropped the deck into her flimsy shoulder bag and left the room.

She couldn't find the boarding house host. She did want to apologize. She'd catch them at breakfast.

The moment she stepped outside she could feel it. Something still and tense in the air. She made it down the front walk and onto the street before she realized, at least partly, what it was. Silence. A still, tense silence. The street was empty, but the houses were dark as well. Judith looked more closely at the house across the street. The house wasn't dark, in fact. It looked like most of the lights inside were on. But every shade was pulled, every blind drawn. Light only escaped around the cracks and edges. She began to walk in the direction of the town center. Every house on the street seemed the same: people were home, but each house was blinded and silenced, as if boarded up against an oncoming natural disaster.

When she had arrived in Carsden, Judith had walked from the bus stop to the closest boarding house someone had suggested, so she wasn't far from the center of town. She could see the small square park from here. The lamps glowed, but she could tell even the center of town was empty. She stopped. Something wasn't right. Maybe she'd just try in the morning. She turned to go back.

The town of Carsden wasn't so much on the edge of a forest as it was a part of it. Trees surrounded every house, flanked every road, met overhead no matter where you were, it seemed. And as Judith made the short walk back, she could almost feel them closing in even more, these trees. 

Something crossed the road up ahead of her. What was that? Not a dog. A deer? It had seemed bigger than that. She felt very far from home.

A sound behind her. Had something else just crossed the street? She felt as if something was watching. Some things. She did not even try to stay calm. She ran for the boarding house door.

Back inside her room, door locked, blinds drawn, the musky potpourri still very present, Judith knew she needed to draw another card. Two cards in a matter of hours wasn't a good idea. If you consult the deck too often it can dilute its power, confuse things. But she felt so alone. She needed input, feedback, needed to think about something besides whatever she had just felt (seen?) outside.

She forced herself to follow the ritual. She took the deck out and put it down on the small marble table, holding her hand over it, making herself take a long, slow breath to calm her mind and be ready to listen. She pulled a card.

She shivered. The card itself foretold strength; it spoke of courage in the face of opposition or danger. The Nine of Rods was an auspicious card to pull in any reading. But all she could see was herself surrounded by trees.

She didn't think she'd ever be able to sleep, but as soon as she slid into the noisy bed she was gone. 

Dreams of trees, something behind the trees, a tree grown up in the middle of the road, a spilled cup, a boat on the water, then falling awake.