At first, it didn’t seem so strange, waking up by the sea. I thought I’d simply fallen asleep after my usual swim again. The damp sand was itchy, crackled bits of seashells were cutting into my skin. I was tired to the bone, so I didn’t mind that too much. Waves were idly lapping at my toes. There was a nice breeze rolling over the water.
I inhaled deeply, savoring the sharp, salty air. I couldn’t quite contain my delight. It was perfect, that moment. Everything was perfect. The world only tilted after I opened my eyes.
It was night. A woman was standing over me, staring down at me with a disconcertingly mild sort of curiosity. I sat up abruptly. I was barely aware of her bending to kneel beside me. I flinched when she lightly touched my shoulder. She was old, like I often imagined my own grandmother might look. She was rail thin and white-haired. Her complexion reminded me of nutmegs in their pink-strapped shells, or maybe it was just the scent of them that clung to her. The moon reflected doubly in her eyes, a pair of luminous orbs.
“What the hell? Why are y--”
My words cut off on a sickly moan as bile rose up, nearly into my mouth. I gagged. God, I could almost taste it. My head swam. Why was it night? Why was I here at night?
“You look a bit peaked,” she murmured sympathetically. “My house is just over there. Why don’t you come up for some tea?”
I looked to where she pointed. There was a tiny bungalow sitting atop a grassy mound, just beyond a sea-grape wall. I frowned. In a flash I was on my feet. There wasn’t anything shockingly remarkable about that house. I just didn’t recall ever seeing it before and the only place I’d ever seen sea grapes was in books. “Wait,” I breathed. “Where in the world am I? This isn’t the same place I--”
“Don’t think about it,” the woman admonished sharply. “At least wait until after you’ve had some tea.”
“Why?” That one watery word was a bit of a whine. Even I wanted to cringe but she didn’t do that at all.
Relentless though they were, her eyes were kind and she only tilted her head, as if seriously contemplating my query. “That sort of thing generally makes a body feel better, doesn’t it? Might give your mind a chance to get up to speed regarding your current... circumstances.”
She waited there patiently, until I nodded.
“Okay. Alright then, yes. Tea does sound good.”
I was secretly amazed by how willing I was to cling to her suggestion. I was well aware that I was just shucking my uneasiness and confusion aside. Why was that, though? I wordlessly followed her up the well-trodden path that led to the top of the knoll from the frilly edge of the ocean. Her home was frail, a ramshackle box with misshapen boards for walls. Pale moonlight peeked in through the tiny spaces between the boards. Time flew by as I sat at the wooden table in her kitchen. I watched her pour hot water into a pot with a handful of some sort of greenery I’d never seen before. When it was done, she poured some into a surprisingly dainty cup. The cup, spoon and saucer were obviously from a proper china set. I’m not sure why I found such a trivial thing so jarring.
She sat across from me, set a small basket down on the floor beside her. After selecting cloth and thread, she nodded encouragingly. “Go ahead, try it.”
I obediently took a sip. She’d made a particularly strong brew. I could literally smell the bitterness. I swallowed gamely but set the cup back down into the dainty saucer. “Ugh. God. What is this?”
“Cerasee. Drink it. It’ll cure what ails you. Well, maybe not all that ails you.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing.” Her hands stilled. She peered at me curiously. “What’s your name?”
“You haven’t told me yours. Why should I tell you that?”
Her arched brows told me she thought my sudden belligerence was ridiculous. Whatever. I still wasn’t inclined to tell her.
“My name is Fiona,” she replied amiably. “Never mind about telling me yours, though. It’s alright if you can’t remember.”
“I never said I couldn’t...” Words failed me, mid-bluster. My head started tripping on how often that seemed to be happening.
“Lets try this,” Fiona rattled on, as if I hadn’t even spoken. “What’s the last thing you remember, before we met on the beach?”
“I remember swimming. I remember sinking.”
“Then?”
“Then nothing.”
“How long ago did you go swimming?” She ventured.
For some reason, I was struck by the sudden suspicion that she was being quite careful with her questions now. “Ah... It was early morning, just before sunrise, I think.” No that wasn’t right. It was night now, so that wasn’t possible, was it? There way no way that would be right. I frowned down into the cup, my fingers froze mid-stir. “It might have been early evening, just after sunset.” Inspiration struck. “It was a Wednesday,” I declared with a firm nod. “It was definitely Wednesday... maybe.”
“Oh?” She murmured.
“Isn’t today Wednesday?” I demanded.
“It’s not.”
“Well, what day is today?” I was scowling at her then.
The old woman didn’t seem concerned by my hostility. She mimicked my shrug eloquently. “It’s not my job to keep track of these things, is it?”
Something about this whole setup was starting to irritate me. I did that thing, where your eyes dart around as you try to sum up your surroundings in a few short seconds. The walls were crowded with shelves laden with tired looking odds and ends. It was strange, some of the things she kept on them. The shelf closest to where I sat housed a bone from a fish, feathers from a dead bird and the colorful carcass of a butterfly.
“What exactly is your job, then? Seems to me all you do is walk by the sea-side collecting weird junk.”
“Yeah, collecting things is what I do.” She chuckled. “Sometimes, I sew.”
I watched the needle dip in and out of the white square of fabric. It didn’t really look like anything particularly fashionable. “Uh-uh. Sew what?”
“Hmmm? Right now I’m making a bag,” her sharp gaze narrowed. She pointed the glittery tip of her needle at me. Yikes. “You know, for some of that weird junk I collect. Anyway,” she relented. “You should finish your tea before it goes cold.”
My heart tripped. It was racing then fell flat on its face. Why had she pointed at me when she said that? “Don’t tell me...”
“Don’t tell you what?” She looked up from her sewing. There was a strange, almost mocking light in her eyes. I couldn’t believe it. The old bitch was toying with me!
I experienced a moment of intense, irrational fear. When confronted by the words, I couldn’t quite give them voice. Don’t tell me I’m simply one these dead things you collect. “Nothing. It’s nothing!” I muttered vehemently.
“I see.” She kept on sewing, seemingly not caring that I was silently raging at her for baiting me and at myself, for my inability to dredge up sufficient courage to entertain the notion. Her black eyes bored into mine. By lamplight, they were scary and made my skin crawl. “Are you dead?” She asked finally. “Or are you alive? That is the question I’m asking.”
I blinked. “What? You can’t tell?”
“At the moment, not really. No.”
“Me neither.”
That was at least half of the truth. In spite of my suspicions, I didn’t exactly remember dying. Then again, I had no memory of returning from my swim. I felt ill all over again. The bitter, green tea hadn’t quite done the trick, after all. “This is turning into an absolute mindfu--”
There was a bang at the door. It flew open, startling me thoroughly.
The old woman glared up at the newcomer. “Daniel! You know better than to just barge in here like that. Now you’ve gone and frightened her away.”
The man’s burly frame was haloed by the moonlight flooding in. He closed the door gently behind him. In the lamplight, his faded tee shirt was blue. Fuzzy green and brown burrs clung to the sides of his jeans from his trek through the woods not far away. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t realize you were communing.” He set a black plastic bag down on the table. “Thea had me bring over some of tonight’s supper for you. She said I’m to wait and make sure you eat some of it before I go back.”
Fiona smiled at her son. “That wife of yours intends to smother me with affection, does she?”
The man grinned. His dancing eyes matched the old woman’s. “She’s already planning her campaign to harangue you into moving into our house for the winter season.”
Fiona looked up sharply. “I’ll leave it to you to talk her out of that.” When he said nothing, she frowned. “Daniel, you know better. I cannot live in that house, especially with a baby coming.”
“What could it hurt, Mama?”
“More than you’d ever wish to know.” Her answer was a strained murmur. She brightened after a few seconds. “She wants to tell me herself when she comes over next week, so don’t tell her I... What are you grinning at?”
His smile fell away when she set her needle down and turned the finished sack inside out. There was a box, made out of tiny bones on the table. The lid’s ornate design featured an intricate orchid blossom surrounded by swirly leaves, a macabre marvel of human construction. He watched her place it in the bag and tug the drawstring to close it.
“Is that the artifact the police inspector brought over yesterday?”
She nodded, handing the bag to him. He set it on one of the shelves.
“Any luck?”
“Some. She’s stubborn though,” Fiona muttered, frustrated. “I’m having some trouble pinning her down. Thought I might get her to backtrack by bringing it to a place similar to where it washed up. I took it to the sea -side but she immediately grabbed on to the notion that she’d drowned.”
The man sighed and sat down. He plopped down in the empty chair before the unfinished cup of tea. His rough hand covered the old woman’s brittle knuckles. “Someone might have done an awful thing to her body, Mama. Of course she doesn’t want to remember how she really died. Who would?”
