The sound of geese calling woke her from a deep, icy slumber. Laura rose in the frozen bed, leaving behind her husband as she went to the window to see her birds. Through the feathered frost she looked upon a flock of geese walking in the emerald yard, waiting for her to soften their hunger. Laura smiled, thinking that she should go downstairs and crumble pieces of bread for them. Her young niece and nephew were arriving in the afternoon, and they could feed the birds together. It was mid-October, the trees heavy with ice in the dawn, the dying leaves drying themselves with the sun. Laura wrapped herself in a silken robe, quietly moving through the hallway and dreaming of the things she could do to keep the children satisfied. It was Halloween season, she wondered if carving a pumpkin would interest them. Perhaps they could make their own costumes, or even decorate the house with spider webs and ghostly bodies. John was not fond of such childish activities. Laura became angry thinking of him; he would disapprove of each act of innocence. She stepped into the kitchen and took the loaf of bread from its dark hutch, soothing herself as she began to pull apart the tender pieces, slipping back into her reveries.

Kayley and Brandon stood mildly in the glittering yard as John carried in their suitcases. They were watching the geese with fascination. Laura folded her arms across herself, shivering as she joined them. The children turned to her as she opened her purse, pulling out the plastic bags of breadcrumbs. Brandon took his bag eagerly, dipping his small hand in to gather a few crumbs. Laura called out to him as he began running to the defensive creatures, but there was nothing she could do. A bird snapped at his extended hand to take the offering, leaving his fingers swollen and bruised. Brandon shrieked as Laura gathered him up, taking him inside. Kayley remained, hiding her crumbs behind her back with fear, watching the silver geese struggle over Brandon’s fallen crumbs. She stood in captivation until Laura came for her, bringing her into a house full of her brother’s pained cries.
There were no broken bones; John had wrapped the boy’s hand and sent him to lie down in bed. He disappeared into his study, and Laura collapsed upon the couch in the downstairs living room. John was blaming her for Brandon’s injury. Kayley came quietly into the room, watching her aunt draw a furious hand to her face, covering her eyes. There was a harp perched gracefully in the corner of the creamy room, and Kayley held her breath, hungry to play with its beauty. She touched the shimmering strings, plucking them softly. As they hummed against her fingers, Laura stirred, surprised to see that her niece had followed her into the room.
“Kayley dear! You frightened me,” Laura straightened her long, black lace skirt and rose from the couch smiling. “Do you like it?” she rested her eyes on the beautiful harp, and Kayley brightened, nodding her dreamy head. “I love the harp. I’ve only just started playing it, it’s heavenly,” Laura sighed. Kayley knew that her aunt was a music teacher. She played the piano and the cello as well, and gave lessons for each instrument. A tattered memory came to her then, she had been to one of her aunt’s concerts. She could not remember when, but the image of her aunt was a flame. She was performing with her cello, madly playing and throwing herself against the instrument. The music was so beautiful but Kayley had been terrified. Her silent, frail aunt was transformed when she played. She willingly drowned herself in that music.
“John wants me to think of him when I play,” Laura said with a sharp hatred in her voice. She then tossed her hair back and smiled, speaking secretly. “I think of the woods, the sun, the moon. Even the geese,” And she could escape her pain, and go to these places, frolic with the birds. The soft, throbbing keys and strings entangled with her fingers sang out for her, she did not need a voice. Her hands became white petals moving with intoxication, and her body was pure. She did not know how much she swayed. Her body was no longer a prison when she entwined herself with her instruments. Kayley saw tears in her aunt’s pale red eyes. “I’m sorry dear,” Laura whispered, and she ran from the room sobbing. Kayley sat upon a curved wooden stool, wrapping her arms around the cherry-wood harp, pretending it was her aunt. She plucked a string tenderly.
“Don’t cry,” she said faintly, plucking another. “Please don’t cry,” and she held on to it, secretly comforting her aunt. Laura was so beautiful, but there was a sadness in her, a sadness she could not uproot herself from. Kayley also sensed a danger, a smothered fire. She was lulled to her aunt’s strangeness, but terrified of that fragile fire.

The children could not sleep in their murky room, where shadows became haunting creatures, keeping them from slumber. Brandon sat up in bed, complaining his injured arm kept him from playing Game Boy. Kayley narrowed her eyes at her younger brother in the dark; he did not have the rich imagination she possessed. She could lie in that bed forever dreaming, he could not lie still a minute without a game or show flashing before his eyes.
“Let’s play hide and seek,” she spoke feverishly. To her surprise, her brother agreed. They had not played together for months. Soon they were moving through the dim house, stuffing themselves into cabinets and under tables, hushing their laughter as they chased each other. Kayley found herself wandering to the third floor, where her uncle had forbidden the children to go. His study was here, and the bedroom. The breath in Kayley’s small chest became shallow as she crept to the door, which was ajar. She could see her aunt and uncle, nude together in bed. Laura gently extended her pale, slender arm to stroke John’s hard chest, but he roughly pushed it away. Kayley was confused – he was struggling, and there was shame across her aunt’s shrunken face. Her heart began to burn, and she could not keep her hands from shaking. The harp glittered in the blackness downstairs. Kayley ran to it, cradling the graceful curves in her trembling arms. Brandon found her, and laughed as he explained she had not chosen a good hiding place. His sister wouldn’t respond, she held on to the harp with poisoned eyes, threading her fingers through the strings, creating strange murmurs. Murmurs that she understood as her aunt’s sorrow.

Laura had breakfast awaiting the children when they came downstairs the next morning. Pumpkin oatmeal and hot chocolate. While Kayley and Brandon silently ate, an ethereal sound scattered into the kitchen. A sound of pearls that ensnared Kayley. She knew it was Laura playing the harp. Her aunt had moved the enormous instrument out into the shimmering yard, performing for the geese. The birds were enchanted, perched serenely as they listened to her somber song. Kayley found herself under the same spell, no longer afraid of her aunt’s maddened playing. She watched her fingers flutter across the delicate, lustrous strings. It was freezing, and Laura sat wearing a thin sweater over her silk blue dress, sheltered from the weather by her music. She knew she was going mad again. The sickened flower blooming inside. She would go mad in front of the children.
Brandon joined his sister outside, dropping his bowl of oatmeal with his weakened hand. Laura silenced her weeping strings, looking at her niece and nephew as if they were a dream. They starred back, but she smiled. She began to play a lighter song, and Brandon ran around dancing foolishly. Laura nodded sweetly at Kayley, telling her to join him. Kayley twirled around, curling her arms as she listened to the bright melody, spreading her balletic limbs like wings. John was standing in the open doorway of the house, a cruel look boiling in his gray eyes. He bent down to pick up the spilled oatmeal, and Laura stopped playing as she felt his irritated presence.
“I’ll clean that up, don’t worry,” she spoke with a feeble voice. John ignored her and carried the bowl inside. Laura looked to the children helplessly, and hurried after her husband. “John, please, let me do that,” he was tossing mugs of chocolate into the sink, along with the half-eaten oatmeal.
“You’re not eating, you sit outside in the cold weather, you talk to fucking geese, and now you are acting like an irresponsible child,” he said lowly to his wife, gripping the sides of the sink. “I’m not going to take this again,” he spoke of her madness. Laura withered. He had never cared. If she lost her mind once more he would leave. She could not bear to be abandoned, even if by a man who only caused her harm. It was all she knew. She had slit her wrists last winter. John carrying her to the hospital in her slip, her blood had stained the rich material of his car. Some nights she still dreamed of him grabbing her porcelain wrists, yelling at her, while she only watched garnet sheets fall down her arms, putting her to sleep. At times she desired to see those sheets again, slipping from beautiful rose-colored wounds.

At the grocery store, Kayley stayed near her aunt’s side. A ruby necklace was gathered at Laura’s throat, and there were gold clips shaped like cellos in her fair brown hair. The cello, and the piano had been draped in a veil of dust in the music room on the second floor. It was beside the bedroom where the children were sleeping. Kayley knew her aunt had become obsessed with the harp, forgetting her previous lovers. She watched as a man dressed in a red turtleneck helped her aunt place three pumpkins into the grocery cart. Kayley could see this man wanted more of Laura, he was nervous and infatuated, smiling shyly as she thanked him. She wanted her aunt to marry another man. John was so ugly with his square, greedy face and thick fingers. He was fastened to numbers and long, painful equations. Laura needed someone with fingers as long as hers, a man who would wash away her weaknesses, and not feed upon them.
“Kayley? Would you like a candy bar?” Laura asked her dizzy-looking niece, giggling as Kayley looked to her with astonishment. The man was gone.
They left the store with the pumpkins, a set of paints and brushes, bottles of glitter, Pop-Tarts, marshmallows, candy corn; and Kayley saved her Milky Way for later, while Brandon immediately devoured his Butterfinger. Laura had not chosen a treat. The pumpkins were soon drenched in fantastic colors: Kayley’s was pale blue and encrusted with silver glitter. She wanted it to look like Cinderella’s carriage. Brandon’s was the color of grass with sloppy footballs painted across it. Laura’s was gold. She was attempting to carve it into the shape of a harp, laughing pitifully as she cut out the long, polished curve. She was sharing the Milky Way with Kayley, and Brandon’s teeth were orange from handfuls of candy corn.
While they were transforming the pumpkins, it began to snow outside. A light, flimsy snow that the trees shed like pale fur. Brandon worried that the woods were getting cold, and wanted to bring blankets outside to warm the icy earth. Kayley was delighted by her brother’s swelling imagination, and Laura was infested with the beauty of the idea. The three hurried around the house, leaving their pumpkins forgotten as they carried lavender blankets from the living room into the naked, ivory forest. The geese were wandering there, and Laura called to them, but their feathered bodies moved away, finding the lake.
“The water is ice-cold, won’t they freeze to death?” Kayley asked demurely as she laid down upon a blanket. Her brother joined her sleepily; Laura stood gazing at the birds.
“They are never cold. They love to swim in frozen water, like me,” her voice was starved. She lay down with the children, watching the driveway for the glint of John’s car.
Kayley peered at her, and then looked to the frail trees. “Why don’t you teach at the college anymore?”
Laura was hurt by her niece’s question, she considered herself still a teacher there, even if she did not attend the campus. “I have a Music Appreciation class online,” she seemed to speak through a shroud. “After John and I got married, our professional relationship there was a bit infected. Everyone wanted to know when we were going to have a baby, that’s when he decided I should teach from home,”
“You can’t have children, can you?” grief clung to Kayley’s small voice. Her aunt completely ignored the question.
“I do still go to the school, to meet with my students. Sometimes I give lessons there, it’s really still the same,”
Kayley watched as Laura’s face wilted, looking at clusters of dead blossoms in the icy dirt, comparing herself to them. She wondered how a person could be a shell of passion: burning terribly inside but so deeply afraid of everything. How could her aunt stand it? Laura began to shiver; John had come home.
“What do you think you are doing?” he shouted as he got out of the car, he could see them in the woods. He could see his mother’s hand-sewn blankets being stained with snow and dirt. “You’re ruining those blankets! My mother made those, they aren’t machine washable!” John lifted Kayley roughly from the ground, and helped Brandon up with softer hands. Laura stood before he could touch her, gathering the blankets in her arms, leaves falling from her hair.
“It’s all right, I’ll take them to the dry-cleaners,” she started shaking the bits of earth from the tender things.
“You are all such idiotic children,” John spat at them. “Take those to the cleaners tonight,” he demanded of the blankets, and Laura watched with glimmering eyes as the house swallowed him.

The lavender blankets were folded in the downstairs closet, with the smell of snow and earth still caught in the silken folds. Laura had told John she had taken them to the cleaners. He would forget about them the next day. Kayley stood outside of their door now, watching again their strange lovemaking. John was pressing Laura into the pale colored bed, his hands strong over her milky breasts; her trembling hands atop his. She looked as though she were going to cry. When she whispered encouragement to him, John suddenly stood up from the bed, causing her to writhe in pain.
“I can’t do this tonight, I have too many tests to grade,” he said coldly, and Kayley watched with hatred as he slid into a pair of navy sweatpants, while Laura wept silently upon the pillows. Kayley crawled on the polished hardwood floor to the bathroom, hiding until John had gone into his study. She was weary and wanting to go to her bedroom, until her aunt came into the hallway, clinging to the wallpaper and drowsily stepping down the stairs. Kayley knew she was going to the harp. She followed in silence, peering through the heavy dusk of the house. Her aunt was sitting in the living room, her lifeless hands curled in her lap. She seemed to be petrified; starring at the mute strings, quiet as her own lips. She was too afraid to play, too afraid to disturb John. Instead she slipped out into the gloom of the night to be with the geese.
Kayley once more went to the third floor, hearing John curse in his study as he shuffled through papers. She went into her aunt and uncle’s bedroom, desirous of putting the pieces of Laura together. The bed was still warm; Kayley ran her hands over the ivory sheets where her aunt had been laying. She frowned at a bottle of pills on the mirrored nightstand. They had never even been open, and to Kayley’s dismay there was no label. The room was mostly full of books and clothes. Atop the dresser were glittering boxes of Laura’s jewelry and things from John’s pockets, such as his cell phone and car keys. Kayley wanted to steal them, to smash them; but feared he would punish Laura. She opened the marble drawers, finding pastel lingerie, crisp collared shirts folded neatly, white socks, bathing suits, and boxers that she snickered at.
“What are you looking for?” John called bitterly from the doorway, and Kayley had to swallow her scream. He stood waiting for her answer with hardened eyes.
“A, a swimsuit,” she plucked one from the middle drawer, an old-fashioned red one piece.
John walked over hotly, grabbing the suit from her and slamming the drawer shut. “You’re not going swimming, the pool is closed. I told Laura not to go in there, if she’s told you that you can go,” there was such a hatred in his voice that Kayley had to stop him.
“I wanted a bathing suit to wear in the bathtub,” she knew how utterly ridiculous it sounded, but now John wanted to hurt her instead of Laura.
“How old are you? Eight? Nine? Are you starting to grow and you don’t want anyone to see?” he smirked, tickling her chest and dangling the swimsuit above her head. Kayley was completely taken aback, slowly raising her arms in shame to envelop her flat chest. “Put your arms down,” again John viciously touched her, pulling her arms to her sides and throwing the bathing suit at her. “Now get out of here, stupid girl. And tell your aunt to come to bed,”
Kayley ran to her room, crawling into the bed beside her sleeping brother. The shadows gripped at her stinging eyes. She wanted her uncle dead. How could he coil such sickened words inside of his mouth, and let them slither out like livid snakes? How could Laura let him touch her? How did he dare to put his hands on her? He was keeping her as his doll, pushing her into a jeweled cocoon. He enjoyed watching his wife waste away, watching her unravel. But when the threads became too thin he would nurture her; sew her tightly back at his side. All because she knew his secret. He couldn’t make love.

It was early in the morning, the sky still stained with night. John had left for a conference at the school, and Laura had immediately taken her chance to swim in their blue granite pool. Kayley watched from her bedroom window while Brandon slept quietly. Her aunt peeled back the tarp John had lain over, careful not to misplace the silver hooks that kept it locked to the ground. She then shed her pale nightgown, slowly dipping her body into the water and gasping from the bitter chill. Laura’s fragile body puzzled Kayley – she was so thin and incredibly white. She was practically Kayley’s size. Kayley wanted to wear the red bathing suit she had stolen from Laura’s room and go to swim with her aunt, but she understood Laura needed this solitude. She needed to indulge in her secluded fantasies. Kayley watched as she swam serenely, madly. The pool was so cold it softly bruised her lucid skin. She went back and forth, folding herself into the wrinkled silk of the water. Kayley smiled through the sequined window, wishing her aunt could remain that peaceful, to float forever in that sapphire milk. She was infected with the lull of the morning; lovelier than the harp.
It was the calm before the storm, though. Laura came into the house, scattering pearls of water across the gleaming marble floors as she returned to her bedroom. Kayley stood in the hallway, peering in to see her aunt speaking faintly to her own reflection in the mirror. It was hard to understand her; she was speaking so low and manically. She was afraid of a woman coming back. She said something deadly had entered again. Her hatred was so strong she could kill. Kayley brought her shaking hand over her mouth, listening to her aunt’s cracked whispers through the shadows, watching her shivering black figure in the mirror. She was dreaming of killing her husband, of twisting his life in her hands and throwing it upon the ground. Kayley felt the snarl of that flame once more, the fire that the splitting strings of Laura’s cello had once given her, and the same suffocating terror. But she wanted John dead too.

The children were propped upon the counter in the kitchen drinking apple cider from steaming porcelain cups. Laura was outside covering the pool; she had forgotten to pull the tarp back over and John was to be home soon. She could not let him see she had been swimming. When the slick black sheet was chained to the ground Laura lifted a bag of breadcrumbs from her skirt pocket and went to feed the geese that had gathered again in front of the house. She smiled as they spread the fluted bones of their wings, chasing after each piece she threw. Laura always made sure that every bird had plenty to eat. She stood in rapture when the bag was empty, watching the creatures nestle into the cold grass with full stomachs.
John pulled into the driveway with a florid temper; Laura watched her husband angrily organize his papers into his briefcase and stumble out of the car. He gave her a crude look, and then his eyes fell furiously upon the geese. “I don’t want you feeding those filthy animals anymore, Laura,”
“They aren’t filthy, you know that,” Laura said with a soft firmness. “How did the conference go?” she hoped to take his attention away from the innocent birds.
“You feed them too much bread and they shit all over the yard! And they’ll keep coming back here because they know the crazy lady is going to give them food. It’s ridiculous and I am so tired of it. Grow up,” he was spitting at her bare feet, noticing with annoyance that they were faintly blue.
“John, they keep me company here,” Laura looked at him hotly, though her voice was sad and brittle.
“You are such a sick little child! They are fucking birds; they don’t give a damn about you! You’re spending time with brainless geese because you’re too scared to be with people. It’s pathetic, Laura. I am so embarrassed by you,” John was frothing at the mouth with his grievances, thrilled to see that Laura was beginning to crack.
“I’ve been spending plenty of time with the children,” she said lowly. “They like the geese too. They understand,”
“That’s another thing. The children are leaving this weekend. I don’t care if their parents are still busy. I am fed up with those little creeps snooping around my house. The girl is just as insane as you are, princess,” John smirked at her, knowing he would cut her deep with that word, waiting for the tears.
“I hate you!” Laura screamed, throwing herself upon his chest, knocking the briefcase from his arms and beating wildly at any limb she could touch, scratching his neck with a hysterical strength. “I’m leaving you, I am leaving!”
He had not expected her to fight back, and he was resentful of the hushed power that had somehow begun to form within her. “You can never leave me,” he said with a deadened voice. He grabbed Laura’s frail arms and pushed her down onto the earth. Kayley and Brandon had hurried outside at the sound of screaming, and ran to their aunt, gripping her limp body, trying to give her their energy. John took out a small box of matches from his pocket and walked closer to the geese.
“What are you doing?” Laura whispered, her throat full of leaves. “What are you doing?” she screamed through them.
John created a fire around the confused geese, tossing matches at them with amusement. Laura cried out in horror, attempting to pull herself from the ground to save her dear birds. Kayley held her back, shutting her eyes as she pressed her aunt’s flapping body against her own. She did not want Laura to be burned as well. Brandon was sobbing from the shock of hearing the geese trying to fly, only to have their wings ignited and toppling back to earth. Kayley wrapped him in her arms as well, listening to the dying geese, their tormented calls smothered by the roaring fire. John turned on the hose when sparks began to fly at him, and when the flames perished the green earth no longer glittered, there was only a hoop of burnt grass. Upon this hoop were the geese—their beautiful silken bodies charred, beaks silent, necks bent in pain as they had burned, as they had cried for salvation, as their wings had ceased trying.
Laura collapsed at the sight of them, weeping so deeply Kayley feared she would suffocate herself and die. Brandon was too frightened to look at the pile of dead birds, and he cried into his sister’s shoulder, still clinging to Laura’s skirt. Kayley encircled her arms around her aunt and brother; protecting them from John’s icy glare. She stared just as maliciously back at him, watching until he had vanished inside the house. She then allowed her body to crumple over her aunt, glimpsing at the murdered geese and mourning for them with her.

John was sleeping in his study. Laura placed a can of gasoline she had gotten from the shed atop the kitchen table, and then went fumbling around the house, her entire body shuddering. She came back with slender white wedding candles, holding them out to show Kayley and Brandon with a demented smile. “Help me,” she pointed to the gasoline can, her finger fluttering. “Pour that all over the second and third floors,” she gripped the candles back into her hands and went away again. Kayley only looked to the silver container with hunger. She struggled as she lifted its heavy weight; Brandon helped her carry it up the stairs with his stronger hand. He thought it was another game—they had warmed the woods with blankets, they would warm the house with fire. The children spilled it across the walls and floor, even laughing when it splashed into their own bedroom. When they came to the third floor, Laura was standing in the doorway of the study, watching John in his slumber. Kayley smiled at Laura’s sparkling look of pure hatred, and proudly spread the remaining gasoline for her. “He kills such innocent creatures, and he goes inside to sleep deeply. They could not even protect themselves,” Laura gasped as she lit the first candle. Kayley’s eyes flickered. Laura held the burning candle in her delicate hand, letting the wax drip upon her fingers. She dropped it, and the empty hall awakened, blooming with flames. Kayley pulled Brandon with her, and they ran with their shattered aunt, looking back at the sheer flames and listening to her intoxicated laughter. She was fully seduced by her madness, lighting candles and letting them slip from her hands, knowing John was imprisoned in his study, in a hoop of burnt wood. They reached the first floor safely, passing by the living room. Kayley shouted for Laura to save the harp, but her aunt was cloistered in her passion, forgetting anything real around her. Brandon held tightly to Kayley’s hand as they came into the frozen sunlight, and she realized her brother was still sobbing. Laura headed into the woods, and they followed her. As she pulled herself through the haunted trees, Kayley swore she heard the geese calling to her; or was it the harp, the beautiful, chapped strings charred by fire?