Something in the Walls

by Daisy Pearce

“In real life you just want someone who can remember to descale the kettle, pet,” she said, giving me a knowing look. “If you want excitement, take up skydiving.”

That’s how Horace, the man who led the group, referred to grief. Sometimes small and quiet and shallow, sometimes a tsunami, cold and frightening. But inevitable, just like the tide.

grief gets heavier the longer you carry it alone is one that has helped me.

Sometimes I wonder how our many-chambered hearts can stand the loss all these years, why it doesn’t simply stop beating. I wonder how the grief can still twist inside you like a stitch in your side when you least expect it.

“We don’t fool anyone harder than we fool ourselves,” as Oscar is fond of saying.

“Hagstones.” She sniffs noisily and wipes her nose on her sleeve leaving a silvery trail of snot. “To keep the witches out. Witches can hurt you.”

“She watches me through the cracks in the bricks. She’s in there now. That’s why we can’t talk about this.”

“Because you can’t predict what fear will do to people. You don’t know which way it will send ’em. Some people don’t have the stomach for it and it drives them mad.”

Desperation makes you inventive, Mina. I just think it’s important you know that.”

“It’s tradition, Mina. You can’t outlast it. Best you can do is outrun it.”