The Grave in Grandma’s Garden: Chapter Two

The car races down the asphalt highway, it’s air conditioning on full blast. The early summer sun pierces through the windows and falls across my lap.

In the back, my suitcase slides around. Periodically, it slams against the side of the car and gives my seat a shake. Mom made me pack it as soon as she drove me home from school, straight from the principals. It’s filled with a weeks’ worth of clothes, a toothbrush, and my electric blue recorder.

We slam over a speed bump, rattling me to my core. A white-hot streak of anger plummets through my stomach. “Where are we going?” I demand. “We’ve been driving for more than an hour, and you refuse to tell me anything!”

Our car slows, and I think Mom is going to stop to talk. But then she briskly lights up her turn signal, and we only pull onto another, bigger highway.

“Mom!” I try again, “Mom, come on! This is stupid!”

I lean as far forward as my seatbelt let’s me, and only then do I see the trek of tears glistening down my mom’s cheeks.

A gaping hole opens in my chest, and the hollow is flooded with ice cold fear. Words die at the tip of my tongue, and I’m left speechless. Mom never cries.

What’s wrong with you? I want to ask but find I don’t have the heart. I coil back into my seat and brace my head against the window.

We drive for another half hour before Mom finally pulls into a gas station. The car heaves a sigh before it falls silent, and my mom does the same, falling back against her headrest. She lies there for a moment, with her eyes closed and her hands clenched around the steering wheel.

I guess she’s counting to ten in her head, like she taught me to do whenever I got upset. I freeze. Is that what this is about? I wonder, Is she upset with me?

“Stay here.” Mom says. Without once looking over her shoulder, she steps out the car and slams the door shut. She walks into the gas station. I crane my neck to watch her go.

She returns a minute later with a purple bag of Doritos and red Gatorade. She places them in my lap as she buckles her seatbelt.

“You never get these for me,” I mutter beneath my breath.

“What do we say?” She asks wearily, out of habit rather than conscious thought.

“Thank you.”

Secretly I wonder, as I tear into the chip bag, if this is a last meal of sorts.

I watch as the cars analogue clock ticks to three, then four. The sun, which had earlier been blinding, melts along the horizon’s edge. My cities familiar terrain has long since disappeared behind us, houses, restaurants, and shops have been replaced by miles of corn, and trees.

Five, six.

Stars pinprick the purple sky. They wink at us, like old friends. Mom finally flicks on the music, but each maudlin love ballad is worse than the last. I almost miss the silence.

Seven.

We’ve been the only car on the road for the last thirty minutes. I doubt it’s been paved in centuries. There are so few streetlights we seem to be plunging through space, I almost feel like we’ve slipped through the cracks of reality.

“Mom,” I croak. My voice is carried away by the radio’s rancid tunes. I scowl. With more force, I try again- “Mom!”

She turns down the music but doesn’t say anything.

I hesitate. I hate how my heart quickens and the words flounder in my throat. I won’t admit this to anyone, but I’m frightened.

“Will- will you please tell me where we’re going now? Please?”

“We’re almost there, Kim. Be patient.”

Patient? I’ve been patient! I shout from inside my brain. But instead of snapping, I purse my lips, and count; eight, nine, ten.

There is a stoplight ahead of us. It flicks from green, to yellow, to red before we finally arrive at the cross section. Despite there being nobody for miles, Mom waits, thrumming her fingers against the steering wheel.

A green arrow flashes, and we turn right.

Passing through bushels of trees, we drive by a rundown town. There are dozens of houses with it’s windows bashed in and it’sdoors knocked down. One has a hole in it’s roof, through which an oak tree extends it’s gnarled fingers. I shrink back in my seat.

“Don’t worry,” Mom says, equally wary, “we aren’t stopping here.”

“Is this place haunted?” I ask in hushed tones.

My mom shakes her head, “It’s just been abandoned for some time.”

Not long after we leave the ghost town behind us, the asphalt river twists downwards. Ancient trees sprout up around us, inching closer and closer to the road, until their roots have taken over entirely. Branches and twigs tear at our windows, like they’re raring to get to us, and tear our livers out to eat them.

Or, well, something like that.

The road below us grows steeper, like we’re at the top of a rickety old roller coaster, and we’re on the verge of plummeting. Mom inches the car forward at a snails pace, the engine’s heart ticking like a metronome.

We’re descending into the jaws of a monster. The trees are teeth, claws, and eyes. Through the windshield is utter darkness. I’m dizzy, like I’ve been strung upside down by my ankles.

“Are you trying to get us killed?” I ask, my voice shriller than I intended.

Mom replies, “That’s never worked here before.”

After many dreadful minutes, where I was sure that we were seconds away from our guaranteed doom, the ground finally evens out beneath us. Though we are still caught between the cavernous trees.

There is practically a wall of them. It’s more like an entryway than a forest. The flora is close enough to make me feel claustrophobic. I gulp down my breaths, like they’ll be my last.

Even as the trees begin to clear, air continues to catch in my throat. I clench, and unclench, my jaw as the car rocks downhill, albeit at a less-steep angle.

This path cannot be safe. Our car is not suited to off-road driving. I’m sure that at any moment, a stray rock will pierce the rubber wheel and leave us stranded in this strange place, where the night’s wildlife leers down from far up branches.

To herself, Mom mutters, “There it is. Gracious, of all places.”

I press my palms against the window, and glare ahead. Like a lighthouse in a storming sea, a faint, flickering glow shines as our single guiding light.

Mom drives straight for the will-of-the-wisp. Her expression is set in stone. My lip trembles, and fear envelops me entirely. I wish to be anywhere but here. I want to beg Mom to turn the car around.

But we plough forth, like two ill-fated adventurers.

We continue to drive for another five minutes, according to the clock, before we finally seem to edge closer to the light. The trees finally wrench themselves away from our path, and the wisp takes on the definite silhouette of a single-story suburban house.

Unlike the houses in the abandoned town, this home was well kempt. Though it’s also ancient. I can only imagine a witch living here, making plots to eat the neighborhood kids.

It was shaped like a rectangle. On the concrete porch, there was a rickety old swing with rust clambering up it. The siding is made of bricks, and a small bed of roses lies directly beneath it. The tiled roof is at a slight slope, and is home to a large chimney from which clouds of dark-gray smoke plume. Golden light pours through the windows and illuminates the small, paved path leading up to the steps.

Our car rumbles to a halt on a gravel road, several meters away from the cottage. A small line of towering trees obscure most of the house from view, but I think I see a shadow watching us from the window.

I close my eyes and count to ten. When I open them, Mom is staring at me.

“Kimberly,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, “Grab your suitcase and backpack, and get out the car.”

The gravel crunches beneath my feet as I drop out my seat. Mom has already slammed the car door shut and wrapped around to meet me. Her footsteps break the eerie quiet. She takes my hand and leads me through the trees, and to the witches doorstep.

Now, I’m sure I see the silhouette of a women in the golden glass. I can’t make out her face, but I feel her eyes trailing us, as we clamber up the steps of her porch.

We stop before the door.

“Mom?” I ask.

She pulls me into a hug and holds me close. For a moment, I’m startled, but then I let my head rest on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Kim.” She says, her voice almost, but not quite steady, “I know this is all very scary.”

“Yeah,” I huff, “It is.”

She laughs and meets my eyes. Like every other facet of our appearances, they’re polar opposites. Where Mom’s eyes are light shades of amber, mine are twin pools of ink.

“You’ve grown up so fast. How has it already been ten years?” The smile drifts from her face, she shakes her head, “I thought, if I kept this secret from you, we could live a normal life. No one, nothing would come after us. But I should’ve figured; magic comes to you naturally, just like it did your father.”

“Dad?” I ask, my voice hollow, “You’ve never told me anything about him before.”

“I know. Kim, I promise everything will be explained.”

“Who lives here?” I demand. “Why are we here?”

Mom flinches. She recoups, and is about to say something- the truth? Or yet more lies? When the witches door swings open.

“Are you going to knock, or are you expecting me to stand here all night?”

The woman before us is old. Her weathered skin reminds me of the bark of an ancient willow tree. She’s darker than me, though only slightly. Her peppered gray hair is pinned atop her head, and her shadowed face puts me in mind of a grinning skull. Her thundercloud eyebrows are knitted together, and her frown could topple mountains. She’s deathly thin, I can see the blood pumping through the veins in her wrist.

Trembling, I tilt my head up to face her, and find twin pools of ink that reflect my own.

“Kim,” Mom says, rising on two unsteady feet, “this is Beatrice. She’s your grandmother.”

“Oh.” I say lightly, finding myself in a staring contest with a scarecrow.

“Lovely to meet you. I was starting to think I never would.” She says. Her gaze has softened, but her face remains stuck in that perpetual frown.

“Hm.”

“Kim.” Mom hisses.

“It’s lovely to meet you, too.”

Amusement flashes in my grandma’s darkened gaze. She turns to face Mom.

“Why don’t you two come in? It’s not wise to loiter outdoors at night.”

A shadow passes between the two grownups. So quick, I start to wonder if it was imagined.

Mom glances down at me. She removes her hand from my shoulder.

“I think it’s best I leave.” She says, “But Kim, you’ll be good for your grandmother, won’t you?”

I stare at her. “No. You’re not leaving me here. Are you?”

My grandmother says, at the same time, “You really not ought drive through the marsh so late at night. It’s not safe.”

“I’ll be alright. Thank you.” She takes a step back. Panic swells in me, and I grab her hand.

“No, don’t!” I cry, “Why are you abandoning me here?”

Mom pulls her hand away, “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

“I don’t understand!”

“Beatrice will explain.”

“No! No, wait!”

I watch my mom turn her back on me. She walks in the same way she barged into the principal’s office, only a few hours ago, with purpose. She doesn’t look back, even as I call after her.

The car starts. I see it’s headlights through the trees. It’s only then I regain feeling in my legs. Without thought, I start to plunge after her, to beg her to change my mind.

Beatrice catches me by the elbow as I continue to weep. “It’s too dark,” she says, while we watch my mom’s car disappear into the night, “you’d get lost. You’d never keep up.”

A strangled sob escapes my throat, and my legs buckle beneath me. She loses grasp of my arm, and I plummet to the ground. Hot tears sting my cheeks.

“Mama,” I cry, “Mama, come back.”

Beatrice watches stoically while I lie there, and lets the last of my tears fall.

“It’s cold,” She says, with what I imagine is all the kindness she can muster, “you’ll catch something out here. I’ll make tea.”

I don’t have the strength to argue. With trembling legs, I wobble to my feet. Grandma holds the front door open. Her face isn’t suited to smiling, but she offers me a small one.

Angry, afraid, and now thoroughly embarrassed, I scrub the last of my tears from my eyes and enter the yawning cave.