Something I may have imagined,
or a noise manifested by an aged structure. Mr. Greely opens his eyes, looks at
me and then smiles. He closes his eyes and soon he’s snoring again.
I leave him and I pad to the kitchen.
Davika, the cook, is busily stirring something in a pot on the stove. She’s a large woman, but her movements are light and swift. Her black hair is woven
in shimmering braids and adorned with red and blue beads. She’s wearing a bright orange shift. A black shawl covers her broad shoulders. Her
feet are bare and she’s singing. I’ve heard other girls say she has mental problems and used to live at the state
institution. She got the job here when she was released. Most of the girls
think she’s crazy as a loon.
I don’t sense craziness, just something mystical, something most others don’t understand.
I watch her pouring herbs from glass containers into the pot and then I slowly
back away, sensing that Davika is doing something secret.
She suddenly giggles and then turns. Her dark eyes sparkle. Fabric swooshes and
beads click. “Come here, girl. You’re hungry?” She pats her stomach. “You’re having the baby and Davika’s belly is twice as big as yours.” She lets out a hearty laugh.
“There’s leftover roast in the fridge. Help yourself.” She turns and begins to stir and sing.
Devika pours liquid from a red clay bowl into the large pot. Whatever she’s cooking smells rich and flowery.
I open the fridge. Thick slices of pot roast lay on a dish. I grab a fork and
knife from the drawer by the dishwasher and devour food, not even bothering to
sit. I feel better now, but instead of returning to my room I watch Davika. She
reaches for a large container of salt.
“I have to pour lots of salt into my brew.”
“Isn’t that bad?”
“Why would it be bad? Salt purifies.”
“My father told me the same thing.” An image of my father sprinkling salt on a makeshift altar drifts through my
mind. A sliver of light appears beside him and then another; bowed heads,
feathery wings and hands clasped in prayer.
“Did he now?” Davika turns and smiles at me. Silver flashes as she spins on her heels and
begins to stir rapidly.
She asks me. “Did he abandon the light?”
“It was a long time ago.” I need to get back to my room. If Maureen finds me here she’ll freak out. “I’m tired, but will clean up before I go.”
She stops. “You sense dark things here. It’s stronger with some of us.”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s alright, girl. I’ll shut my mouth. Moon is full tonight. My brew is strong now.” She stops stirring, sprinkles more salt into the pot and then makes her way to
the refrigerator. “The dark things are restless. I do my best to bind them. Poor Mr. Greely has got
to deal with it as long as this house stands.”
“I don’t understand. Tell me more about this house. What’s going on?”
“It’s different for everyone who comes here. You got to figure it out. Goodnight,
Meg. I’ll wash the dish and silverware. Go on to bed.”
She turns her back on me again. She’s humming. I sense she’s not about to tell me anything else. I respect her wishes despite my gnawing
curiosity.
I leave her and move quickly to my room. I pass Mr. Greely again. He’s still lost in slumber. Clutching the splintered mop handle. I move by Marsha
Walker’s office.
She’s the head counselor. I’ve never felt comfortable with her. There’s a harsh and disturbing aura about her; from the stiff black clothing she
wears, to her heavily made up face.
Her door is ajar. I hear heavy breathing. The door creaks and opens wider.
Marsha is seated at the edge of her desk. She’s unbuttoning her blouse with one hand and moving the other over her breasts. I
sense someone else is there. Watching her. Standing in inky darkness.
I hold my breath as I tiptoe down the corridor. I break into a run once safely
past Marsha’s office. I don’t want to think
or a noise manifested by an aged structure. Mr. Greely opens his eyes, looks at
me and then smiles. He closes his eyes and soon he’s snoring again.
I leave him and I pad to the kitchen.
Davika, the cook, is busily stirring something in a pot on the stove. She’s a large woman, but her movements are light and swift. Her black hair is woven
in shimmering braids and adorned with red and blue beads. She’s wearing a bright orange shift. A black shawl covers her broad shoulders. Her
feet are bare and she’s singing. I’ve heard other girls say she has mental problems and used to live at the state
institution. She got the job here when she was released. Most of the girls
think she’s crazy as a loon.
I don’t sense craziness, just something mystical, something most others don’t understand.
I watch her pouring herbs from glass containers into the pot and then I slowly
back away, sensing that Davika is doing something secret.
She suddenly giggles and then turns. Her dark eyes sparkle. Fabric swooshes and
beads click. “Come here, girl. You’re hungry?” She pats her stomach. “You’re having the baby and Davika’s belly is twice as big as yours.” She lets out a hearty laugh.
“There’s leftover roast in the fridge. Help yourself.” She turns and begins to stir and sing.
Devika pours liquid from a red clay bowl into the large pot. Whatever she’s cooking smells rich and flowery.
I open the fridge. Thick slices of pot roast lay on a dish. I grab a fork and
knife from the drawer by the dishwasher and devour food, not even bothering to
sit. I feel better now, but instead of returning to my room I watch Davika. She
reaches for a large container of salt.
“I have to pour lots of salt into my brew.”
“Isn’t that bad?”
“Why would it be bad? Salt purifies.”
“My father told me the same thing.” An image of my father sprinkling salt on a makeshift altar drifts through my
mind. A sliver of light appears beside him and then another; bowed heads,
feathery wings and hands clasped in prayer.
“Did he now?” Davika turns and smiles at me. Silver flashes as she spins on her heels and
begins to stir rapidly.
She asks me. “Did he abandon the light?”
“It was a long time ago.” I need to get back to my room. If Maureen finds me here she’ll freak out. “I’m tired, but will clean up before I go.”
She stops. “You sense dark things here. It’s stronger with some of us.”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s alright, girl. I’ll shut my mouth. Moon is full tonight. My brew is strong now.” She stops stirring, sprinkles more salt into the pot and then makes her way to
the refrigerator. “The dark things are restless. I do my best to bind them. Poor Mr. Greely has got
to deal with it as long as this house stands.”
“I don’t understand. Tell me more about this house. What’s going on?”
“It’s different for everyone who comes here. You got to figure it out. Goodnight,
Meg. I’ll wash the dish and silverware. Go on to bed.”
She turns her back on me again. She’s humming. I sense she’s not about to tell me anything else. I respect her wishes despite my gnawing
curiosity.
I leave her and move quickly to my room. I pass Mr. Greely again. He’s still lost in slumber. Clutching the splintered mop handle. I move by Marsha
Walker’s office.
She’s the head counselor. I’ve never felt comfortable with her. There’s a harsh and disturbing aura about her; from the stiff black clothing she
wears, to her heavily made up face.
Her door is ajar. I hear heavy breathing. The door creaks and opens wider.
Marsha is seated at the edge of her desk. She’s unbuttoning her blouse with one hand and moving the other over her breasts. I
sense someone else is there. Watching her. Standing in inky darkness.
I hold my breath as I tiptoe down the corridor. I break into a run once safely
past Marsha’s office. I don’t want to think
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