Chapter 7 - The Girl Lost in the Fields

Moving away from the ranger and the other new characters for a short while, we gain insight into another dimension of the story, perhaps the darkest, and brightest

     Darkness. There was nothing else.
    Where am I? Am I asleep? She had the impression that before asking these questions she’d tossed and turned in fitful requiem. Now she began to understand that she hadn’t budged whatsoever from what felt to be an iced statue stillness that gripped her. If this was sleep, then it was a strange kind from which one couldn’t awaken. However, the fact that she was thinking of anything at all must mean she’d stirred, if only a nebulous degree. Most of her senses were shutdown. Her eyes couldn’t obey her determined commands to open. The only thing she could really physically feel was the freezing cold that engulfed her. She imagined a giant ice-dragon lurking leisurely in the gloom as it suffused the air with the frozen crystals of its rasping breath.
    She had to get out of here. She groaned indistinctly as she heaved with her will to be able to move, but her attempts were futile. It was as if she’d been enchained and buried in unmovable nothingness. Every iota of her being implored her to cry out, but she was unable to produce any sound above a mumbling murmur of such low volume that one would have to have been right next to her, with ear inclined, to have any hope of overhearing it. Even the freedom to vociferate her fear and distress had been denied her.
    What’s going on? How did I get here? Oh god,…, someone, please.
    Anemic hope eddied within her. Corporeally, she was helpless, but perhaps it wasn’t too late. There might be another way out of the binding blindness. This moment of dazed and affrighted awareness with which she’d been presented had to be used. She brought her mental and spiritual energies together to piece together what had happened, and discover how it could be undone.
    An idea came to her, perhaps the only option. She’d reach back, deep into the past. But how? A starless mist eclipsed the past. The memories of her life, of who she was, were but a muted echo. Open the door to dreams - her intuition softly interjected. Yes, she’d guide her vision back to the start of things, to where it had been lost, where it’d been taken, and thereby find the key she so desperately needed to get out of this prison. Deeper then, inward, yet diverging, to where this dungeon of murk cannot hold one. But beware of the shadows that haunts requiem.

*           *           *

   
    The darkness slowly dissipated, and as she moved through the sifting mists a brightness from beyond augmented. She was weightless and felt nothing. The biting frost was but a shivering memory. The brume broke to reveal fleecy clouds in a yawning blue sky. She moved through a profound forest penetrated profusely by dappled amber light. She brushed past the foliage and carefully pushed aside pliant leafy branches. It was all so lucid! This memory, dream, whatever it was, felt more real than,…than anything she could recall, and those things she couldn’t, and she was in control, steering it where she wished to go, transported by her very will.
    Floating soft as a dandelion past the white bark of birch trees she came to meadows flushed with a florid array of flowers that danced timidly in the breeze. What caught her attention most of all were the bluebonnets, and another flower, one of intensely purple petals, the name of which evaded her. The swaying mixed grass extended to oceanic plains that rippled and shimmered. She still couldn’t feel her body, but she was conscious that she was walking by her own volition through wavering stalks plush with fresh foxtails. Metallic-hued grasshoppers leapt hither and thither, and brightly colored butterflies chased each other in elegant courtship. The chorus of melodic trills from swallows, miniature sparrows, and meadowlarks, fluttered and sparkled joyously throughout. It was spring, indeed, she could all but smell the fresh fragrances.
    Somewhere over the low rich green hills sounded the familiar bark of a dog. Closer by the laughter of children could be distinguished. She crossed the sward and came nigh a mirror-flowing brook which babbled happily. Not too far up the plashing shores, by a sparse grove of weeping willows, was a small group of kids that were laughing as they played, throwing water at each other. Their efforts were serious when it came to sailing a little makeshift boat they’d brought with them made of cypress. The craft seesawed uncertainly in the undulating shine of the deluge.
    Although she was pretty sure they couldn’t see her, she didn’t approach the children. In no way did she wish to intrude or interrupt upon their playtime. This was happiness. The very word made sense to her. She could see it was true as she watched them carry on, worries yet faraway and unreal. The longer she beheld the group of children, which consisted of four boys and three girls, between the ages of five to ten, the more vibrant the vision became, to the point that she fancied she felt wisps of the steppe’s currents stroking her arms with cool fingers, and the warm blanketing touch of the midday sun.
    How long she watched them she couldn’t say, a half hour perhaps. Then the children, one by one, returned to a place she couldn’t see on the other side of the hills. Probably a frontier town. At the end only one kid remained, sitting on the grass under the willows beside the stream.
    The little girl, about eight years old, wore shiny black shoes and a white dress with light-pink flowered embroideries. She was making a small doll walk through the grass and another sit on the moss grown rocks by the rivulet. Plopped next to her was an old stuffed animal rabbit. From time to time she picked it up and spoke to it, as if consulting its opinion. She combed one of the doll’s hair, murmuring the imaginary storyline in which she was immersed, and humming a melody to go along.
    Why did she feel that she knew this little girl? Her name was on the tip of her tongue, a soft thought trying to manifest its form. The aria she hummed was familiar as well. The lyrics were just beyond her grasp. She wanted to go up to the little girl and ask her who she was, but the child was thoroughly absorbed in a perfect moment. Best to just be grateful to be able to see the little girl and know she existed.
    The little girl raised her head. The drift had brought the holler of a familiar voice over the prairie to her. It said, “Yarokia, …where are you?…Yarokia,…time to come back home”
    It was her mother. But the little girl wasn’t ready to abandon the story the toys were enacting unfinished, and thought to herself - Oh no, not yet. Just a little longer. Her ma continued to call, in a tone more reprimanding each successive time. The little girl ignored the summons and focused on her toys and the landscapes they inhabited. Several minutes later her pa called out, his voice quite a bit louder and sturdier with authority. Although both voices were hard with the discipline they demanded, they were at the same time the most comforting in the world, the ground beneath her feet, the sky that couldn’t fall, proof she’d always be someone special.
    It must be close to supper time. Her imagination smelled the meat pies being pulled out of the brick oven. Her brothers and sisters were probably already back at the ranch. It was real nice to eat when the food was warm. The house was a good place. There was nowhere she’d rather be at the end of the day, or when she didn’t feel like being out and about. Besides, she could keep playing there later on. Hunger and obedience prevailed and the little girl picked up the toys and got to her feet, pouting to herself, “Ok, ok, I’m coming”
    She hopped some stones to cross the brook, then walked off into the sweeping prairie, drawn by the oasis of warmth that a perfect safe haven provided.
    The woman that watched her, who didn’t know if she was dreaming for certain, thought to herself - Yes, go back home, back to your family. It’s a wonderful place. You have no idea, I wished things had never changed.
    Entering the flaccid flowing ranges of grass, the little girl passed her fingers through the smooth stems. The emptiness of the llano suspired as clouds passed ethereally. Cotton tailed rabbits bolted through the undergrowth at her approach, and butterflies, orange monarchs, white rapaes, and clouded yellows palpitated aside. Flowers bobbed, drunken on the wind. All these little wonders lead her astray, especially the tiny red puffy-feathered birds that tweeted and which she futilely tried to catch.
    She walked and walked, and as time wore on, began to wonder why it seemed to be taking longer than usual? By now she should’ve come upon the homesteads furthest out, but there was yet no sign of Meridon‘s outskirts. Everything was swallowed in the shimmering waves of a sea of green. She didn’t mind getting lost in the wild fields, she’d done so many times, but at this point she wanted to get back to the ranch.   
    How long had it been since ma and pa had called to her? An hour? The little girl shouted back, cupping her hands around her mouth. There was no answer. Could it be that the plains’ zephyrs had played tricks and lead her adrift? Nowhere on the horizon was there any token of the frontier settlement, not even a pasture ranged by the cattle herds.
    Anxiety tingled as she realized she was indeed lost. She remained quite confident however that she’d find a way back sooner than later. Also, if she were any tardier they’d send someone out on horseback to find her. In any case she quickened her step. It was a bad feeling not knowing where she was.
    Movement in a patch of tall-grass not too faraway caught her eye. A small flock of prairie chickens took off in a sudden frenzied beating of wings and frantic clucking. The little girl caught her breath, startled. Something wasn’t right. What had caused those birds to scare so? That only happened when a predator stalked.
    Pondering the possibilities her heart jumped and a flush of hot, giddying fear from the ground to her head kick started her into a run, not unbridled, only a little faster than a jog. She made sure to hold onto her toys like a mother holding her children. If she dropped one out here she’d probably never find it again. The wind chased her like giant invisible snakes set loose, winding coldly as they hissed through large breadths of meadows.
    Her features pursed in fear. Oh no, she could feel it. Something awful was coming. She wanted to cry but knew it’d do no good in the middle of nowhere. Arms and legs pumped as she forged through the tall verdure that slowed her in the way bad dreams did.
    Whether the voice that spoke to her was her own, she didn’t know, but it was full to bursting with concern, urging her on as if she were being chased by a pack of snarling wolves - Run, please keep going, you have to find a way back! The little girl started running as fast as she could. The tall reedy stalks sibilated sleepily around her as she huffed and puffed.
    The wind warped, wailing powerfully and whipping the rangy grass to toss and swoosh as if fighting against demonic possession. The little girl nearly tumbled over. She thought she heard a dog barking. It had to be Fumpo, their golden-retriever, and he sounded worried. Fumpo also sounded awful faraway, but she must be getting closer. To her despair she couldn’t tell from which direction the barking had originated. The gusting grew unseasonably cold, coming from all directions, howling from the north the strongest, as if at war with itself. Her hair blew about, covering her eyes intermittingly, and the jetting arms of wind pushed her. She wanted to cower and hide, but the mysterious voice cried out for her to keep running, telling her she needed to get away, so that she, the two of them, could be free…
    The little girl breathed raggedly, her face red and perspiring. She was pushing her limit and she fell over now and then, scraping her knee on a rock one time, but always got back up, holding her toys closely. The fast fluctuating clouds roamed across the sun and the temperature under their shadows dropped further. Awhile later she came to a low hill from which she could see to the horizon. She thought she descried a few of the outlying pastures the cow drovers of Meridon used. She coughed in feverish exhaustion. Yes, home was that way. She was going to make it before dark. Supper would still be warm.
    Before she managed to take a step towards the distant swaths, a cold and terribly powerful thing wrapped itself around her body, lifting her many times her own height off the ground.    
    An iron grating voice rumbled, “Ah ah, where did you think you were you scurrying off to in such a hurry?”
    She kicked and screamed, trying to twist free like a squirrel caught in the talons of a giant eagle. As she struggled, her toys, except for the rabbit, fell to the ground, little stiff bodies face down. She was unable to turn and see the abominable thing which held her in an immovable vice locked grip, but she knew what it was. The dark metal giant that guarded the doorway - the Gatekeeper had found her.
    Her scream was piercingly high pitched as only little girls can scream. She hoped someone from town would hear and come to help. The faceless fiend covered her wailing mouth with one huge hefty gauntleted hand.
    “Shhh, quiet down now my pretty. Play time is over. There is no one waiting for you there anyhow. Not now, not ever. It’s back to the dark chamber with you”
    And then they began to move. One moment the black-iron clad juggernaut was standing in place, the next it was hurtling across the fields at a terrifyingly unnatural velocity, carrying the little girl above the llano at nearly twice the height of a full grown man. Children often imagine how wonderful it’d be to fly, but this was against her will and out of control. The Gatekeeper rushed faster than the wind, on wings of demonic speed, a train without tracks powering over a country towards mountains, cliffs, or who knew what doom. Miles and miles that would’ve taken hours, perhaps nearly a day to cross on foot, were covered in mere minutes.
    The giant overseer slowed down when they came within sight of the house. There it was, all alone amid the continuum of the plains - a two story country house painted all white. At the terminus of the zooming journey the little girl was woozy, vision spinning, but when she saw the house, her eyes fixed on it and dilated in horror. It was beautiful on the outside, but inside it was a den hoarding horror and pain. She renewed her squirming struggle against the harsh embracing clasp of the massive metal arm.
    “Ahh,” sighed the Gatekeeper, musing, “Home sweet home” 
    The giant walked towards the house, slow and purposeful, so that the little girl could take it all in nice and slow and thoroughly feel the terror of knowing she couldn’t escape.
    She screamed over and over, and the metal ogre let her, for no one could hear her cries.
    “Did you think the Witch or my master would ever let you leave? Nay, I have been set to watch over you. You are my charge and primary prisoner. You must understand you cannot stray into fantasy. This is your reality now.”
    The little girl’s eyes were wide and unblinking, and her mouth agape. She cried profusely as tears streamed down her cheeks.
    “Hush, hush my little darling” the iron hand caressed the hazel brown hair atop her head, “There’s no need for all this fuss and grief.”
    Her voice quickened towards hyperventilation,  “Please, please, no, I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna”
    They were very close to the house, passing a grove of trees rimming the meadow lawn, and then nearing the hedge that lined the house itself. The structure’s many windows were all deathly vacant.
    The little girl held onto the stuffed rabbit as if it were a buoy, and cried louder, earnestly calling upon the heavens and everything that her young mind could conceive that might help her, but her words were jumbled with sobs of fear.
    The giant had had enough, “Shut the f**k up you little brat! You hear! I can’t stand listening to you! Worthless, evil little trash-born fay”
    The main door opened and closed in the wind as they approached the steps that lead up to the front porch.
    “Noooo!” screamed the little girl with all the terror that came from being consigned to a fate from which she didn’t know when, or if ever, she’d be free again. “Mama, papa! Please!”
    But it was too late, up the creaking steps the Gatekeeper carried her, and through the door which slammed itself shut behind them and swallowed her in the House of Dreams.

*          *          *

    Darkness. Everything frozen and silent. How long had this been going on? - inquired her groggily muddled consciousness. It returned in a series of flashes, crashing in on themselves, whirling down a tunnel into a well of inkiness, right back to where she was. After the dream of the little girl on the prairie trying to return home, the beautiful young woman found herself once again prisoner to the slumber of unfathomable night. She’d tried to escape and failed. Now she was blind and lost as before, and the little girl was locked away where she couldn’t get to.
    Remembering the little girl, she thought to herself - You should have listened to them when they called you,…before it all got lost in the wind. 
    Minutes, hours later, it was hard to say, a voice, deep and wide as an abyss, spoke with far reaching serpentine calm through the icy gloom. “Leave behind dreams of light and colors. Grey to black is your sentencing. It is too late Yarokia, when you awaken it will only be to the realization that you are a nightwalker, and that you belong to me”
    A grimace of anguish blemished the beautiful sleeping woman’s visage, accompanied by an almost imperceptible tremor of writhing throughout her body. She didn’t want to believe it. Not even in dreams could she be free! What more!? They’d taken it all! She moaned tenuously, as if a powerful headache afflicted her, and shook her head slightly. The door back to the other side, of wakefulness and of living, was too far away. Her eyes remained tightly shut, but tears trickled out of their periphery.
    God, how had it come to this?
    Although her hope was a thread, she prayed nonetheless for help, as one who places a letter in a bottle and casts it into the waves of the sea, hoping it’ll make its way across the vast waters to someone.

Author's Note

The story is mainly classified as western, also fantasy, but this is one of those chapters that seems to lean a bit more towards horror