(Anne Frasier has been a great friend both to me and to The Clarity of Night. After reading your entries, the Endless Hour photograph must have burrowed into her brain, because one morning she woke up and pounded out this story. You can find her, and more about her painfully cool novels, over at her blog, Static.)
***Keep those Readers' Choice Votes coming!***
The Witch of Blackberry Hill
by Anne Frasier
Once the snow melts, they come.
Curiosity seekers searching for my house, looking for a thrill and maybe a bit of immortality. They bring cameras and equipment meant to find me, meant to capture my shadow or the whisper of my feet against the stairs. Some of them have been here before. Some have been here many times.
But they don’t know me. None of them know me.
There is no one left to tell of the rivers I swam, the sandcastles I built, or the hearts I broke. They will never know of the man I loved and the children I never had. It doesn’t bother me. I look forward to the spring when the snow melts. Occasionally I will caress a cheek or the back of a neck. The curious will turn and almost see me, the fear and life in their eyes a reminder that I was once more than this.
I can hear them now, their voices echoing through the woods.