Under the Willow

She only wanted closure.

                The wind was howling outside, making tree branches scrap my window, making the old house whistle. I rolled onto my side and pulled my blanket over my head, frowning. I’d never get any sleep with this noise, and I had to get my sleep or school would be a wreck in the morning.

 

                I pulled my cover down and looked at my clock. It was after two A.M. Just perfect. I sat up and frowned, swung my legs over the side of my bed and stood up. After a stretch, I crept out of my room, bare feet sinking into the thick off white carpet. I walked down the hallway, dark because of its lack of windows, and was in the living room. I was the only one in the house with a bedroom on the first floor, so I really wasn’t sure why I even bothered to be so quiet.

 

                From there I walked briskly into the kitchen and grabbed a glass. I turned on the tap and the sink jumped to life, water splashing my oversized t-shirt. I frowned and filled my glass, then turned the wretched thing off. I took a sip and looked out the window at our back yard, still frowning. I wasn’t overly found of our new house. I was a city girl, born and raised for the first seventeen years of my life in a world of metal, concrete, and smog. And now, suddenly, I was thrust into the country, where my nearest neighbor was a whole field away, and my high school had as many kids as my class had originally had back home.

               

                The wind howled again, and I wanted to scream at it to shut up. I thought it was oddly windy for September, and cold too. I was content in my t-shirt and boxers in the house, but I knew outside it was a bit bitter. So the country’s cold and lonely. Just what every teenage girl wants.

 

                I took another sip of water, then looked back outside. I froze, and my glass fell from my hand to the sink, making a loud clink sound as glass hit hard surface and shattered. I jumped and looked down, muttering, “damn” under my breath, listening for any sounds of a parent or sibling coming downstairs to see what was up. Thankfully, I heard nothing. I grabbed the trashcan and scooped the broken glass into it, hoping no one would notice a missing glass. As I did, a chunk nicked my hand and I gasped. Blood welled from the cut, slipping down my hand, threatening to leave a streak down my arm. I turned the faucet back on and shoved my hand under the icy water, watched the blood turn pink and wash away.

 

                As I did so I looked back outside. See, I’m not that clumsy, I have to drop a glass for a reason. I could have sworn I’d seen someone outside, staring back in at me from a tree about five yards out. I could have sworn.

 

                But when I looked all I saw was the old willow tree, branches almost trashing in the wind. I decided I was delusional from lack of sleep, so I turned the faucet off, pushed the trash can back to its proper spot, and decided to try and sleep again. I was about to leave when I noticed someone had left the blinds to the window open next to the screen door that lead out into the back yard from the kitchen, and decided to close them.

 

                I reached for the string, when my brown eyes saw it again, a shape under the willow. Something skinny, curved like a woman, but I couldn’t really see any details in this light. But I could tell she was looking at me, straight at me. My breath caught in my throat and I closed the blinds, then made sure the door was latched tight. It was.

 

                I considered waking my parents up, but I knew all they’d do is tell me to lay off the horror movies and get some sleep. I opened a drawer along the counter and pulled out a little flashlight, then peeked through the blinds again.

 

                There was nothing. Okay, this was getting annoying. If there was something outside, I wish it would just freaking stay put and scare me, not move around. I was too tired for this.

 

                I unlatched the screen door, and God only knows why, I opened it and shone the flashlight around. There was nothing directly around the house, and now there was nothing under the tree. I stepped out, and the wind instantly sent my brown hair whipping around my face, making it hard to see. I squinted and looked around.

 

                I felt the wind die down, but the sound of moving air was still next to me. My body went rigid and I slowly turned towards my left, flashlight moving with me. I didn’t take in any details, all I knew was there was someone standing less than a yard away from me, and that was enough. I broke into a run, and for god only knows what reason, it was away from the house. Maybe I was afraid I wouldn’t get inside and the door closed in time. Maybe if I ran around a little I’d lose whatever it was, then I could get inside.

 

                I bolted towards our shed, which was parallel to the old willow, about three yards away. I crouched behind the side away from the willow and killed me light, then looked around. The moon was out, thankfully, giving me a little light. There was no one directly around me, so I was safe there, and there was no one by the door, which was singing open in the wind.

 

                Oh god, what if it went inside! I hadn’t thought of that! I had to wake my family; I had to tell them there was some person, probably a maniac, running around. What if they had a weapon!

 

                I scanned away from the house for a moment, and breath rushed from my lips when I saw the figure under the willow again. I’d never be able to bolt to the house unseen, but at least they weren’t in the house with everyone.

 

                I did consider running. I was a fast runner, and I could probably beat them to the door, maybe even get it closed. I wasn’t sure I could latch it though. But at least being inside would be better than this. I stood up and got ready to run when I heard this wind again, but this time there was something more to it.

 

                A voice drifted in the wind, soft, frail, whispering, “Come to me, Cameron.” I looked around, wondering how this person knew my name, and wondering how their voice could float on the wind like that. I know it was stupid, but I couldn’t really control myself. I stepped out from behind the shed, flash light off and dangling in my hand. My feet began to move without my command, stepping towards the willow, and the figure began to become clear.

 

                It was a woman, in a yellow sundress, strawberry blonde hair sweeping around her face and shoulders in the wind. I wondered what kind of maniac wore a yellow sundress when they were going to murder a family, and thought for a second maybe she was just a normal person.  But what kind of person was lurking around someone’s house after two A.M.?

 

                I stopped about a foot in front of her, and noticed her sundress looked worn out, dirty. The bottom was sipped, stained from what looked like mud. Drops of red splotched here and there, until you got to her abdomen, then the red seemed to be everywhere, covering the yellow. She had her hands, one over the other, resting on her chest, over her heart. Her hands were red too, and dirty, and her face had splotches of red and dirt.

 

                I didn’t make the connection right away, until I’d stared for a moment. Blood. There was blood staining her. I dropped my flashlight. She was covered in her, and here she was, standing there, smiling at me like it was a Sunday afternoon in the town’s small plaza.

 

                “My god,” I breathed. I felt shivers all over, goose bumps rising on my flesh. It was freezing outside, but the sudden chill that swept over me had nothing to do with that. “What happened to you?”

 

                She didn’t say a word, just kept smiling. Her face was so beautiful, smooth, flawless, with perfect blue eyes that stared at me, like they might know me. I watched as her hands lifted away from her breast; saw the gaping hole that burrowed into her ribcage. I choked my scream down my throat, felt my legs shake. I feared my knees might give. In her hands was a heart, wet and slick, and still beating, though it was not connected to a single thing.

 

                I wanted to step back, I wanted to run, but my legs wouldn’t move. It was like they were stone.

 

                Finally she spoke, words falling from her cherry lips,

 

                “Bury me.”

 

                I stared at her, and she stared at me, and no one moved. She pushed the heart closer to me, and for some reason I just knew. I knew at the moment what I had to do. Without another word I fell to my knees, rather roughly, and felt the cold earth beneath me. I reached out between us and dug my nails into the grass, pulled it away; let my fingers sink into dark, fresh earth. I dug at it, dirt caking underneath my nails, in the indents of my fingerprints, leaving my hands misted in dark. But I dug away, scooping dirt from the earth until I had a small hole.

 

                I stood up, and she pushed the heart towards me again. I looked at her face, at her blue eyes, then the smile that played on her lips. I took a breath, then reached out, and let her place the beating thing in my open palms. It twitched against me skin every time it beat, and it was slick with blood. I knelt down and looked at the hole, then the hear tin my hands. It was beating like a normal human’s would. I contrasted it to the thumping in my head from my own racing heart, and wondered how the organ hadn’t exploded in my chest yet.

 

                I set it in the hole and stared at it, watched as the beating slowed, until the heart was still, as still as the air in my lungs, as I realized I’d been holding my breath. I let it rush past my lips and looked up into the wind.

 

                The woman was gone. The grass wasn’t even pressed down where she stood. I looked back at the hole, and the heart was still there, slowly withering into the dirt. I began pushing the dirt over it before it withered away fully. I wasn’t sure if something would happen if I watched or not, but I didn’t feel like chancing it. It only took moments to cover, then I grabbed the flashlight that was lying on the ground and stood. I was completely alone under the willow, not a soul around.

 

                I walked back to the house and inside, closing and latching the door behind me. I tucked the flashlight away, and turned on the faucets. Dirt and blood ran with water down the drain as I scrubbed the mix from my skin, under my nails. It took a while, and I scrubbed until my skin felt raw, but I wanted to be sure it was all gone.

 

                I watched the last of the mix run down the sink, then turned the water off. I dried my hands on my shirt, then crept back towards my room, sinking again into the carpet. It felt so warm and soft as opposed to the cold damn grass beneath my feet.

 

                I never did discover who that woman was. I spent years of research in my spare time, tracking down murder cases, learning ever little detail of the past of my new home, town and house. But nothing ever came up. The house had no history, no murders, no run-aways, nothing. The town itself had very little history. But I spend my last two high school years learning anyway, I even spent my at home college years researching.

 

                When I moved out I finally gave up, and decided I would simply never know who the woman under the willow was. I gave up trying to explain her, but I never forgot her. I still go home, every year on that day, to this day, and kneel under the willow and stare at the spot where the heart is buried. More than once I’ve wanted to big it up, see if it’s really there, but I just can’t. The dead need to rest, and I feel like whoever that woman was, she’s resting now under the willow with her heart.

 

                I’ve told my parents if they ever decided to move I want to buy the house. When they asked why I just couldn’t explain it to them. I simply told them it was peaceful. They thought I hated it, that it was too old and creaky, and that the wind kept me up.

 

                Truth be told, I slept just fine with the wind now. In fact, that best night sleep I ever had was that night, when I curled back into bed, and a voice was carried on the wind, singing an old lullaby into the night.