Escape!

The space under the stairs was barely wide enough for Lily-Anne to pull her knees to her chest. Dust clung to the backs of her hands and settled in the creases of her elbows. She kept her breathing shallow, each exhale barely more than a thread of air. Through the thin wood she could hear the heavy tread of his boots moving from room to room, the floorboards groaning under his weight.

"Lily-Anne!"

The shout rolled through the house like a rock down a dry creek bed. She pressed her forehead against the wall and tried to disappear into it. The smell of cheap whiskey reached her first, sharp and sour, followed by the creak of leather as he stopped just outside the door.

"You think you can hide from me in my own house?"

She tasted metal at the back of her throat. Her heart beat so hard she felt it in her teeth. The doorknob rattled once, then the door flew open with a crack that sent splinters across the floor. His hand filled the opening, fingers spread, the skin cracked and rough from years of work he never finished.

She had no time to move. His hand found the collar of her sweater and yanked. The fabric tore at the shoulder. She felt the sudden cold air on her arm and the burning line where his fingernails scraped skin. Something inside her chest twisted tight, then released with a soundless pop that left her ears ringing.

The floorboards disappeared. Cold, damp moss replaced them beneath her palms. Lily-Anne stayed very still, afraid that any movement would snap her back into the house. The air here was thick and tasted like old pennies. Trees rose around her in twisted shapes that looked more like broken arms than wood. Above the branches the sky glowed the color of a fresh bruise, deep violet and pulsing slow.

Back in the house Silas stood with the scrap of sweater still clutched in his fist. The closet was empty. No girl, no sound, just the faint outline of small feet in the dust that ended where the boards began. He stared at the space as if it owed him an answer. His breathing came heavy and wet. He slammed the door shut again, then opened it, then slammed it once more. The empty air did not change.

In the forest Lily-Anne finally lifted her head. The marks on her arms were still there, purple and yellow and older than the night. She touched one without thinking, then pulled her sleeve down to cover it. The screaming had stopped. There was only the slow drip of something from the leaves above and the low rustle of wind that never quite reached her skin.

She tried to stand. Her legs shook, so she stayed crouched against the nearest trunk. The bark felt cold and slightly damp, like stone left in shade. She kept her mouth closed. Any noise might pull him through whatever crack had opened between the two places. She had no idea how she had crossed it or whether it would open again if she spoke.

A thin mist drifted between the trees. It smelled of wet earth and something sharper underneath, like the inside of a rusted can. She watched it move without touching her. When a drop of water landed on the back of her hand she flinched, then watched the skin turn red for a second before fading. The pain was small, almost nothing compared with what she knew, but it was new and therefore worth noticing.

She thought about calling out, just once, to see if anyone else existed here. The idea died before she could open her mouth. Better to stay silent. Better to listen. The forest did not sound like any forest she had read about. No birds, no insects, only the slow creak of branches that moved when there was no wind to move them. She counted the beats of her own heart until they slowed enough that she could think again.

The violet sky pulsed once more, then settled into a steady glow that made the shadows under the trees shift in slow circles. She kept her back against the trunk and watched the nearest shadow lengthen toward her foot. When it touched the edge of her shoe she drew her legs in tighter. The shadow stopped, then retreated an inch, as if testing whether she would stay or run.

She stayed.

Somewhere far behind her, or perhaps above, a low sound moved through the branches like a held breath being let out. It did not come closer. It simply existed, waiting to see what she would do next. Lily-Anne closed her eyes for three counts, then opened them again. The sound had not changed. She decided that was as close to safety as this place was willing to give her.

Her fingers found the torn edge of her sweater and worried at the loose threads. The fabric was familiar, the only thing that still belonged to the house. Everything else around her belonged to itself. She wondered how long she could sit here before hunger or cold forced her to move. The thought made her stomach tighten, but she pushed it down the same way she pushed down every other feeling that did not help her survive the next hour.

The mist thickened slightly, turning the nearest trees into gray columns. She could still see the trunk she leaned against, the rough pattern of its bark, the place where a branch had once grown and then broken off. She traced the broken edge with one fingertip. The wood was hard but not cold the way metal was cold. It held a faint warmth, as if something inside it was still awake.

She kept tracing until her finger found a small knot that felt like a closed eye. She stopped. The forest did not object. It simply waited, the same way the house waited between outbursts, the same way the bruises waited to fade. She drew her hand back into her sleeve and pressed it against her ribs where the sharp pop had happened. Nothing hurt there now. Only the memory of the feeling remained, like a door that had opened and then closed again without anyone noticing which side she had ended up on.

Time passed without a clock to measure it. The violet light never dimmed. The mist never lifted. Lily-Anne stayed where she was, breathing through her mouth because the air still tasted wrong. She listened for the sound of boots or the slam of a door, but the only sounds were the slow drip of water and the occasional creak of wood that had no wind to explain it. After a while the creaks began to sound almost like words, but she refused to listen for meaning. Meaning belonged to people, and there were no people here except the one she had left behind.

She shifted her weight slightly to ease the ache in her knees. The movement sent a ripple through the moss. Small lights, no brighter than fireflies, rose from the disturbed earth and drifted upward before fading. She watched them go without reaching for them. They did not return. She decided that was answer enough for now.

The forest continued its slow watch. Lily-Anne continued hers. Between them the violet sky pulsed once more, steady and distant, like a heart that had learned to beat without anyone listening.