Tunnels

Sometimes I'd hear voices.

Not in my head, or telling me to do anything. Not even talking to me. It sounded like snatches of conversation I could almost (but not quite) understand. Ordinary. Like someone asking have we any laundry soap left? or close that door, there's a draught.

It happened as far back as I could remember. When I was small, I thought it was evidence of fairies. I'd squat down near the skirting and listen for them. I tried leaving little bits of food, but it only attracted ants.

Years soured the magic and convinced me I was crazy. Pills, hospitals, therapists... Do you know what finally cured me? I moved away. The voices stopped! I even forgot about them for years... How odd. It had been a central part of my life (of me) for so long.

When Dad died, Mum needed help at home. Unmarried, childless, with a job (writing) that didn't glue me to any one place: I was the best sibling for the job.

Gone was the brisk woman who had marshalled me through my childhood. Who was this vague wisp with a faraway look in her eyes, always so distracted and scattered? As if she were listening for something on the edge of hearing. Her hair all white now, slippered feet shuffling.

She put a saucer of milk by the skirting, though she had no cat, and I knew. I should never have come, except to take her away. Somewhere safe.

When I tried to make her leave, all her wispiness sharpened into shrewd edges and hard refusal.

We went to bed frustrated with each other, each annoyed at the other for the failure to listen. She didn't appear for breakfast. I tapped on her bedroom door. No answer. Her bed neatly made. All her belongings in their proper places. She'd taken no coat, no cash, no key.

Had she left? Or been taken?

Police were dismissive, looking sceptical when I insisted she was vulnerable.

I was ready to hiss questions into the wall, to threaten, to beg. To admit, at last, that I'd never been mad, and nor was she.

Then they came for me as well.

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Word count (excluding note): 365

Submitted on 22md January at 18:50

*Quick Author's Note*

Thank you so much for reading! Your thoughtful engagement is very much valued. Please leave a comment so I can reciprocate the read. If you enjoyed it, the best compliment you can give is to share it, or read another.

Pay no attention to the writer behind the curtain: I wanted to do a sort of dark "Borrowers" angle with this one. I'm writing a story every day this year. This one makes a 22 day streak. You can find all of them in my Index post, which is pinned to the top of my profile. I'll also link to it at the bottom. If you've been following the Moira stories, she's still on a break for now. Maybe she will be back tomorrow.

My "story every day" project: if you're joining me on this "story every day" madne adventure, please leave a link in the comments. Whether you're on a creative bent, like me, and writing mostly microfiction/stories, or whether you have your own, self-imposed criteria, I'd love to see what you come up with for today. I'll try to come back and edit this to link to your piece.