Author’s Note: After taking a literary break following the completion of The Inscription (which is still knee-deep in the editing process, FYI), this little brainchild exploded into the open. This morning, actually, was when it began to blossom. I’m taking this ad-lib for once, so please excuse me for any plot discrepancies. It will go through the editing process, for I intend this to be a full-length novel as well. Soooo yep. Please review and all that happy horse…..smiles. Yes, cheers! 

“The tree is on fire,” a small boy’s shrill, birdlike screech penetrated the religious silence of the warm October evening. Charlotte raised her head from her newspaper, battling a giggle. “Mommy, the tree is on fire!”

The thirty-three year old reluctantly turned her head to follow the direction of her son’s extended finger. She saw not flames but bright foliage. Smiling, she lifted Adam onto her lap and planted a kiss on his forehead.

“Those are just the leaves, baby,” she tenderly explained as the three-year old squirmed. “The tree is changing its style for the winter. It’s not on fire.”

“No,” he insisted stubbornly, scratching his nose and leaving behind a streak of dirt on his face. “The tree is on fire, Mommy. I’m gonna go tell Princess Grace.” Six-year-old Princess Grace, also known as Gracie Mae, was curled up in her room with her dolls, and would most likely be agitated by her baby brother’s arrival.

Charlotte laughed and watched her son gallop towards the house, his bare feet stumbling awkwardly over the slippery leaves. She waited until the screen door had closed securely behind him before turning back to her paper.

As she scanned the headlines, she found that she could not concentrate. She wasn’t nervous about her son trekking through their large, two-story colonial unaccompanied, no, she was nervous for herself, sitting out here all alone. They always seemed to come when she was alone. They’d never surprised her when she was with Jack or the kids.

Charlotte dug her fingernails into the vulnerable fabric of the paper, scanning the yard and the surrounding forest. She glared at the deciduous monsters, cursing them for the ominous shadows that they cast upon her paranoid self.

“Quit worrying,” she told herself, trying to focus on her reading. Adam would return soon with his sister, and the three would enjoy the beautiful outdoors for a while longer before they would need to prepare dinner and wait for Jack to come home.

A light breeze disturbed the leaves and the formerly languid clouds began to stir violently overhead. It looked as if an evening shower was unavoidable. Charlotte sighed and folded her newspaper. Perhaps an early supper was in order.

She stood from her ornate cedar lounge chair and stretched her long, cramped legs before heading towards the house. Her pace quickened as she felt icy drops hit her exposed shoulders. She shivered.

As the velocity of the drops increased, Charlotte found herself grumbling obscenities.

“Typical. Anger management does not seem to be your most possessing quality, Char.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, hair on the back of her neck prickling and her cold shoulders stiffening even more. She spun around, wishing her mind was engaging in cruel chicanery yet again. She blinked. No such luck.

“Your time is running out on your little vacation, Char,” he said warningly. “I suggest you pack up and tell these people the truth.”

“They’re my family,” she asserted, tears threatening. He didn’t understand, couldn’t possibly understand her predicament.

“No, Charlotte. Charlotte, you’ll kill them. Get out now.”

She did get out. She took another long, hard look at him and shook her head. She ran. She ran until she reached the house and locked the door behind her.

She didn’t breathe until he’d left, and after that she realized that, despite herself, he was right.

She had to tell them.