Winter Crops

I should have left the damn thing in the ground–left it there for some poor schmuck to dig up long after I’m gone. But, well, I couldn’t very well have done that, could I? It was just so lonely and, well… it was lonely and, God have mercy, I’m a good man;

She’s on the table now, Ethel, in Marcy’s old bassoon–er, no, not bassoon, bassinet–wrapped up in one of those big fluffy towels from upstairs because I couldn’t find a blanket that was small enough. She’s so quiet. It’s her eyes that worry me. She’s so quiet and those eyes, they’re like… I don’t know. They’re like ice–but ice that can see and think. And I mean really think, Ethel. Sometimes, when I’m looking into those white eyes it’s like she’s thinking such big thoughts that she’s thinking them through my brain, like she has to co-opt mine to get enough processing power. It makes my eyes itch.

I wish that you would pick up the phone. I think it’s the snow scrambling the lines. This storm snuck up out of nowhere. I can hardly see a foot outside the window, and the truck’s busted–busted sometime between this morning and finding the thing. I tried to go into town to get the police but the engine wouldn’t catch, so I’m stuck here until the snow lets up.

I would just toss her (“it,” not “her”) back outside into the blizzard, but it’s so cold, and she’s just a baby. I know she’s not a baby. Babies don’t come out of the ground, hard as flint and cold as ice, but it looks like a baby. it was dead for sure when I dug it out. I almost lost my lunch to see its little blue body, all curled up. I brought it inside and wrapped it up in the towel so I didn’t have to look. That little lump of red towel was almost worse than the thing itself. As if anything could have been under there–like it was trying to suck me in.

I went out to try to get to the police, and, when that didn’t work, I tried to phone them from the garage, but the storm had snuck up by then and it wouldn’t go through. When I came back inside, it was uncurled and its eyes were open.

But damn is this a storm…

It’s a barn-burier, alright. I don’t know when the last time we had a storm like this was. The sky was clear blue before it hit. I don’t even know where it’s all coming from.

She’s looking at me, Ethel. She’s really looking at me. I can feel those icy little eyes inside my head–thinking inside my head. Why won’t she move? She doesn’t even blink. Ethel, I wish you would come home. I’m forgetting things. Or, maybe somehow… no. Never mind. Just get home quick. I’m scared, love. She’s thinking things inside me, and taking things out of my head. I’m exhausted. I can’t move from where I am here at the table. Any time I try–and I really would throw the thing out–my legs are just so damn tired I can hardly move them.

I’m sitting here just watching it, and it’s watching me, and there’s nothing inside my head. It feels like I’m falling asleep, very slowly, and my thoughts are drizzling out my ears. But my thoughts aren’t gone. I mean, they aren’t in me, but I can still feel them. It’s just that… this is going to sound crazy… I can feel them inside of her–inside of those icy little white eyes that seem to be tingeing with the tiniest bit of blue. My hand is the only thing that keeps moving. I can’t seem to stop it. The words are going down on the paper as if, lacking thoughts in my brain, my hand is taking up the slack.

It does feel so peaceful, like being covered by snow.

She’s making room, I think. She needs space to climb into the driver’s seat.

Her eyes are very blue now–or maybe they always were; I can’t remember. I think that mine would be rather grey, if there were a mirror nearby. Except, there is a mirror. She is there, looking up at me with those blue, ice-shard eyes. I look so old and so grey, and my eyes are so pale they’re almost white. She’s scratching around up in my head, except it doesn’t really feel like my head anymore. It’s just a head. I don’t remember… well… I don’t remember. My hand is the only one that remembers, still scratching away.

Take your time coming home, Ethel, and read this. It’s okay, I think she’ll be gone by the time you get back.