Husk

    Through the woods she walks, whistling the tune to “Winnie the Pooh.”  Her hood comes down, exposing her brunette hair.  Her eyes were as green as jade and her skin revealed the signs of maturity.  Neither tall nor short, she stops and stares at this lifeless place.  Branches remained rigid and no creature scurried, yet, she felt it.  This is the place.  Her hood was connected to a long, formerly sleek, brown coat.  Her wrists were adorned with charm bracelets occupied by mini figures resembling caricatures of people.  Larger figures were attached to her belt, accompanied by a pouch, carving knife, and even vials.  The crimson shade of lipstick matched her shirt.  Black jeans matched her boots on her feet and the fingerless gloves on her hands.

      Onward, she continues, still whistling.  This time, there was more pep in her step, kicking up dirt and leafs as if taking a stroll at the beach.  She surveyed the woods, feeling the energy in the area.  She was close.  No!  She was here!  Still, what she sought was not yet in sight, but it will be.    She stops whistling and kneels, scooping up dirt in her hand.  Making a fist, she lets the dirt pour out, rejoining the earth in which it came as she paced around.  She finally begins to speak, evoking an incantation.

    “Is life not fair?

    Sun is shining, blessing us all with light.

    Day has broken, yet it may as well be night.

    For this land carries the weight of despair.

    Oh poor, brokenhearted soul where do you dwell?

    There is little doubt that your family misses you

    In some ways, I do too.

    My dear, lost daughter, are you well?

    Alas, there is no time for a tear.

    Primordial forces are now awaken,

    They stir like those hidden away in the den.

    It is time to rise my dear.”

    All of a sudden the woods begin stirring, revealing life that was previously absent.  The wind blows through, enough to breathe life into her hair as it flows.  She’s still pacing, walking in a circle and continuing to kick up dirt.  Her head is down, arms outstretched with her palms facing down as well, moving as if searching for something lost.

    “Where is your vessel?

    The one in which you departed.

    It comes as no surprise that it is as shattered as the brokenhearted.

    Your mother I may be, but I seek not to nestle.

    Our conversation has ended.

    Now to the primordial do I speak.

    Help me find that which I seek. 

    It is your power I need to tend.”

    The woman stops moving.  The strength of the wind increased, now whistling loudly while she continued her chant.  Her own volume rises, yet maintains a level of calm.  She lifts her head, looking forward while also turning her hands upwards.  Leaves fly through the air, but her concentration is not broken.  The sky starts to darken, easily mistaken for a change in weather and coming rain by the normal individual. 

    “Ashes to ashes.

    Dust to dust.

    No other gods do I place my trust.

    My intent is clear, there shall by no clashes.

    From dust we are born to dust we return.

    Lend me your powers.

    Waste not another hour.

    Provide me with that which I yearn.

    I need only dirt, not water.

    Here, her vessel has been scattered

    For that I seek to fix the shattered.

    Bring to me the husk of my daughter!”

    Everything is engulfed in a cloud of dirt.  It is as if a sand storm emerged on the spot, concealing everything from view.  The wind is strong, yet she is not moved.  This storm is focused on one spot as it starts to funnel out.  The view is returning as the dirt gathers up before her and the wind loses its strength.  By the time the wind dies, the gathered, hovering dirt begins to take shape.  The woman herself is untouched, appearing as she did when first entering the woods.  Before the woman now appears the hovering body of a girl in her late teens.  She too had brunette hair, a small birthmark on her lower jaw on the right, just below her cheek, sporting a side bang swept to the left, eyes closed.  She wore a blue denim jacket, matching jeans, black and white chucks, and a black shirt with the text “I heart Monsters” with an actual heart shape instead of the word.  It was the reformed body of Isabelle Ziggler, whose ashes have been spread in these very woods after her death.

    “There you are,” said the woman, circling around the body and eying it from head to toe.

    Bringing her hands together, she spreads them apart as the clothes dissipates from the body.  The woman continues her inspection before moving her hands like a puppeteer controlling a marionette.  The body’s arms spread.  She dare not touch the body, inspecting with her eyes.  She makes a mock mouth her hand, and then opens it, causing Isabelle’s body to open its own mouth.  All the teeth were there, including the tongue.  The woman closes her hand and the mouth follows.  Finally, she flicks two fingers upward, making the eyes fly open and there they were two jade colored eyes.  Satisfied, she brings her hands together for a second time.  The clothes return to the body.

    “Is it her?” asked a young man appearing behind the woman.

    Next to him was another who looked just like him. Twins.  Both had their own bob haircut, yet swept on opposite sides.  Both had scabbards strapped to their backs with swords sheathed away inside. Both wore all black with the exception of their shirts under their jackets.  One wore blue and the other red. 

    “Not quite,” said the woman.  “I’ve finally found her body.  Finding her spirit will be no problem.  She’s roaming somewhere.  If she is who I suspect, she’s made quite a name for herself in the spirit world.”

    “We’ll finally get to meet her?” asked the other twin.

    “Of course,” the woman responded.  “In fact, we’re getting the whole family together:   Her twin, their youngest sister, even their poor excuse of a father.  Then there’s the two of you.  It will be one big happy family reunion.  Now come along.” 

    The twins disappear, transforming into light, transparent streams of energy that sore through the air and into two twin figures attached to the woman’s belt.  She then removes the pouch and opens it as Isabelle’s body turns back into the ash in which it was formed.  Moving to her will, the ash moves into the pouch before she seals it.  She holds the pouch in the palm of her hand, staring at it with a satisfied smile.

    “Find her,” she said, her voice low yet traveling along the wind.

    She stands in the middle of the woods, still as a statue.  Her eyes were closed, hands clutching the pouch.  Images flood her mind, moving rapidly as location after location is revealed before her until finally settling on Isabelle herself.  With her was her twin sister, Laura, wearing her hoodie with a mock tie design on the front.  The two were identical, but the key to telling them apart is the fact that Laura wore glasses.  With them were two others, one of which is an African American male with his own mock tie hoodie, wearing a friendship bracelet in a pattern of green, pink, and black on his right wrist.  He had his own scabbard attached to him, with a tactical sword inside.  It was Brian Davidson.  With them was another individual, a Latino male carrying a rifle.  He goes by his preferred nickname, Gambito.  Even through this, the energy from them collectively was incredibly strong and they appeared to be traveling together.  Her vision ultimately settles on Isabelle, who seems aware of her presence or rather a presence.

    “Isabelle, you OK?” Brian asked.

    For a moment, Isabelle says nothing, just staring off at the distance before Brian calls for name again.

    “Yea I’m fine,” she finally replied. “Just… feels like something is pulling me.  That and like there’s eyes on me.”

    “Might be a locator spell,” Laura said. “Maxine told me about those. We haven’t really got too far into it, but I think I can help with something.”

    “No,” Isabelle said with a wave of her hand. “It’s fine.  It’s probably nothing.  If someone’s looking for me, I’m sure we’ll run into them soon.” 

    The vision stops.  The woman opens her eyes and places the pouch in her belt.  She got what she needed. 

    “Isabelle…” the woman said.  “So they let you keep the name I gave you.  Then I’m guessing Laura and Elena got to keep their first names too.”

    She removes the carving knife from her belt, fingering the blade and appearing thoughtful.  She is already starting to make her way out of the woods, memories filling her mind.  Her with her twin girls, the birth of her youngest and the day she left her family as well as her returning to discover that their father lost their girls to another family.  The incompetent idiot, she’s glad she killed him.  Now he was part of her collection and she was looking to add more.  She, herself, has quite a reputation in the supernatural world.  Most know her only as “Mama”.  Only those close know her as Lucinda. 

    “You’re right, Isabelle,” she said.  “We are going to run into each other very soon.”