—THE WINDOW’S OPEN NOW, AND THE WINTER SETTLES
IN
Gravity
Falls
When the dead start to rise, she thinks it’s
the end of everything.
Outside a skein of black geese smear the sky,
their honking more like the sound of a buzz saw sparking on rock. The lake, covered in gray loam, hisses upon
the flock’s disappearance.
Trees pull up their roots, spraying dirt and
rocks as they make their stilted zombie walk toward her front door.
She’s ready to let them in this time. No need for shattered windows or breaking
down doors.
Her husband finds her hand on the knob. “Please, Elle, don’t.”
“But they’re here again.”
Her husband’s face is a puck without
expression. “Let’s just sit for a while,
okay?” he says. “See what happens?”
“But they won’t leave,” Elle says, her voice a
broken reed. “And if they do, they
always come back.”
“Yes.”
“Yes?” Elle’s eyes bloom with hope and frail
desperation. “You see it too?”
He encircles her shoulder, and leads her to the
living room where they sit on the sofa.
“Can you hear them?” Elle asks, but the only
thing he can hear these last many months is their daughter’s bugle-sounding
laughter.
He takes Elle’s hand, tracing her knuckles,
noticing sadly how they resemble a mountain range. Now it’s his mind playing tricks, finding
cruel coincidences.
The house seems to hum in the nervous silence,
dinner plates in the cupboards chattering conspiratorially.
He swallows a stone of air. He knows to say nothing, to let Elle bring up
their daughter and the accident if she must, even if her doing so crushes him
as much as Elle.
She studies the doors, the night-black windows,
her head flicking side to side like a paranoid crow.
He touches her cheek, trying to calm a
twitch. He smooths her hair, which is
damp at the roots.
She doesn’t seem to realize he’s there right
beside her, their arms touching. Yet, he
listens to Elle’s breathing, measuring the gaps between intake and release,
waiting for it to level out, willing to wait as long as it takes.
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